


Happy Together

by MorningGloryxxx



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Pencey Prep
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Anxiety, Crossdressing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Teacher Gerard Way, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 185,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningGloryxxx/pseuds/MorningGloryxxx
Summary: Gerard’s battled trauma and addiction but it’s still a struggle. He’s come a long way though—ask anyone, his family, his friends, his psychiatrist. Unfortunately, Gerard is convinced he’s a Pandora’s box of mental problems that no one in their right mind would dare open.Then he meets Frank. Gorgeous, cool as fuck, and a fucking joy to be around if his band would come home from tour once in a while. Gerard knows what he wants—to be happy. He just has to figure out how to get there.Spoiler: Gerard cries a lot but gets his happy ending.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Past Gerard Way/Bert McCracken, Spencer Smith/Gerard Way
Comments: 185
Kudos: 153





	1. Party Hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this chapter: homophobic language, sexual harassment, minor violence

“Fucking great,” Gerard muttered. The cordless phone made a satisfying _crack_ as he slammed it into the cradle. He flopped backwards on his bed, flared skirt flapping against his thighs. Then he sighed at the ceiling, all dramatic like he was a teenager again. Not that he wished to revisit that particular trauma. Still—he was a lousy excuse for an adult. And now he was all dressed up with nowhere to go. 

Instead of crying about it, he fumbled at his bedside table for his smokes. He snagged one but struggled to light it while prone. If the cheap wig on his head caught a lick of flame it would burn up like his mood. When he chucked his lighter over his shoulder it ricocheted off the table and fell to the floor along with the rest of his plans for the evening. 

He pulled from his cigarette, long and deep. The mattress dipped and he startled, coughing out plumes of smoke. 

“Classy, Gee.” Mikey hovered into sight, his eyebrow twitching in concern. “I hope you’re wearing underwear.”

Gerard flipped his brother the bird and threw him the look that said he wasn’t in the mood. Mikey had the nerve to roll his eyes in reply as he stole the cigarette from Gerard’s fingers. Not to smoke but to hold it ransom for a reaction. 

Gerard really needed that smoke. He sat up and snatched it back, tucking it in the corner of his mouth as he tugged his body-hugging tank top back over his stomach. Suddenly, his outfit felt too tight and revealing. He took a drag and blew the smoke in the opposite direction from Mikey’s face because he was considerate like that.

“What crawled up your ass?” Mikey twirled a finger through Gerard’s hair. “Your costume is amazing.”

“I know,” Gerard complained as he yanked the dark wig off his head and crushed it in his lap. “But I’m not going out.” He rubbed a hand over his flattened hair causing it to stick up in tufts. “Everyone flaked out on me and I sure as fuck am not going out alone.”

“Seriously?” Mikey said flatly. Gerard nodded and picked at his nails. Mikey used his index finger to tuck his glasses tight to the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, sorry, Gee. You look great. You make one hell of a superhero.”

“Superheroine,” Gerard corrected. “It’s fine.” He smoothed out his skirt. The sequins caught the light, glittering like stars—he’d sewn them on by hand for fuck’s sake. Scoured thrift shops for the perfect bits and pieces. It had taken him weeks to assemble his outfit. He’d even shaved. Now he was doomed to suffer the itch of stubble on his legs and pits in vain. His friends fucking sucked.

“You only say it’s fine when it’s not fine. Cheer up. It’s Halloween.” Mikey nudged his shoulder. “You should come with me to that party.”

Gerard side-eyed him with a suspicious, “Where is it again?”

“Paterson, near the college. Ray invited me.”

“Party with students?” Gerard’s eyebrows went up. “Are you kidding me?”

“It’s a big to-do. All sorts of people will be there, not just students. And everyone will be in costume so no one will care you’re dressed like a girl. It’s a Halloween party,” he enthused, giving Gerard his best pleading look.

Gerard dragged from his smoke and fiddled with his top. Maybe no one would care. But when he had decided to go all out with nude pantyhose and a miniskirt, he had envisioned himself at a gay club in the village where men would call him fabulous and not try to kick his head in for wearing ruby-red lipstick. But a college party? There were plenty of close-minded assholes who would take a man in drag as a direct shot at their masculinity.

“I dunno, Mikey.” Gerard inspected his cuticles, fighting the urge to chew. He should have painted his nails. They looked as bare and ragged as he felt. “I’m not in the mood anymore. It’s probably an omen that I should stay home.”

“If anything, it’s a sign you need better fucking friends.” Mikey shook his head. “You need to get out of your comfort zone.”

“I’m fine in my comfort zone.”

“ _Fine_ , is not good enough. You should be out having fun.”

“It’s only Friday… maybe I’ll go out tomorrow night instead. Halloween’s not till Sunday anyway.”

Mikey gave him a flat look like he knew Gerard was full of shit. “Stop making excuses. You’re already all dressed up.”

Gerard gave him a sad shrug and flicked ash from his smoke. For a moment, they sat there quietly. Mikey shifted and Gerard thought he was leaving. Instead, he used both hands to shove Gerard off the bed. Gerard yelped as his ass hit the floor. He managed to save his cigarette from lighting the carpet on fire and counted it a small victory.

Mikey peered over the side of the bed where Gerard was sprawled on his back. “You’re coming to the party. It’s for your own good.” Instead of arguing, Gerard smoked down to the filter and stubbed it out. “But Gee, you’ve gotta keep your legs closed if you’re gonna wear a skirt.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and struggled to get up without flashing his brother. Amused, Mikey offered a hand and helped him to his feet. “C’mon. You can help me glue on my fake teeth. I don’t want them shaking loose if I get lucky.”

“You always get lucky,” Gerard muttered as he examined his pantyhose for runs. 

*

Friday night on the freeway was a madhouse. Cars zigzagged across the dotted lines like ping pong balls, zipping left and right. A Dodge pickup swooped in front of him, narrowly missing the bumper. He white-knuckled the wheel and eased up on the gas. Several cars whizzed by on either side, leaving streaks of light and engine noise in their wake. The pickup changed lanes again, chasing them into the distance. 

The moon hung low in the sky, marking the way like a beacon near the horizon. Streetlights lined the highway with pools of light. At least the path to Gerard’s demise was well lit, should it come to that. He let out a breath and risked a glance at Mikey in the passenger seat. He was fiddling with his camera instead of pondering his fate like Gerard. 

Mikey didn’t have a car but had no problem ever finding a ride. He hated driving and possessed the charm to have his lazy ass chauffeured everywhere. Often by Gerard. Sometimes Gerard hated how easy it was for Mikey to talk to perfect strangers when Gerard had trouble with even his closest friends.

“You’re gonna miss the exit,” Mikey said without looking up.

The exit sign blew by in a blur. Dammit. He wouldn’t miss the exit. Determined, he shoulder-checked past Mikey’s head and floored it. The car lurched as the engine revved harder. Headlights were approaching and he had to swerve across two lanes of traffic to beat them to it. He hit the brakes, tucking between two cars on the off-ramp. Both of them jerked in place, seat belts pulling taught to keep them secure.

“Sorry.” Gerard readjusted his hands on the wheel. Mikey read Gerard’s stricken expression. “Calm down and show me your Maybelline smile.” He aimed his lens at Gerard’s frowning face. “C’mon, Gee—it’s a party, not a death sentence,” Mikey said pointedly. 

The comment punched Gerard in the gut with guilt, as intended. Traffic slowed to a stop at a red light, so he looked at Mikey and quirked his mouth into a silent apology. Lightly, he said, “It’s gonna be ’90s dance music, kegs of beer, and frat dudes trying to feel me up all night.”

“Okay, one: I’ve seen you dance to worse. Remember Eric’s wedding? Achy Breaky Heart ring any bells? And you were sober. Two: the beer in those kegs tastes like dirty socks, so you’re not missing anything. And three: no means no. If anyone touches you inappropriately, kick them in the balls. Got any other excuses, princess?”

“Don’t call me princess.”

“You are, technically. Maybe you’ll find your knight in shining armour?” 

“You mean my Steve Trevor?”

“If you find him and he gets frisky, find me and I’ll suck his blood.” Mikey bared his teeth, pointing at the extended canines as though he hadn’t shown them to Gerard like eighty times already.

“Yes, I know, you’re a vampire.” Gerard rolled his eyes and diverted them to the advancing traffic. “I still think superglue was a bad idea. You're never gonna get those off.”

“You worry too much.”

Gerard tensed as all the horrible things that could happen shuttered through his head like a filmstrip. To quiet the playback, he moaned, “I know.” Mikey barked a laugh and snapped a few pictures of Gerard’s misery.

His nerves wound tighter as he navigated the city, passing strip malls and fast food joints. The streets grew darker. He slowed as they entered a neighbourhood of towering trees and modest houses. One red brick monstrosity with a manicured lawn stood out from the rest. A dozen jack-o-lanterns lined the porch, each wearing a similar, crudely cut face. Fake spider webs were strewn across the railings. Strobe lights flashed through the curtains in time with the dull _womp-womp_ of music spilling into the street. The volume penetrated the car windows, rattling both the panes of glass and Gerard’s clenched teeth.

He parked a couple of blocks down from the house of horrors. When Mikey hopped out, a chilly breeze filled the car and Gerard shivered. He blew out a fog of white breath and rubbed his legs to warm them up. Pantyhose was shit at keeping out the cold.

Mikey tapped on the hood and gave him an impatient look through the windshield. With a grimace, he reluctantly got out. It was fucking cold. Straight away his teeth started to chatter. He stuffed the keys in his jacket and zipped it up to contain his body heat, immediately jealous of Mikey’s oversized hoody.

“What’s with the streetware? What kind of vampire are you, anyway?” Gerard pulled out a cigarette to stall the inevitable.

“I’m a nineties vampire.” Mikey unzipped his hoody revealing the blue plaid flannel and white Henley underneath. “From Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

“I don’t remember Angel ever wearing a hoody,” Gerard said between puffs. He tipped the ash into the air with frozen fingers.

“Not the TV show—the movie with Kristy Swanson. Pike? He was way cooler than Angel.”

"I guess,” Gerard said casually just to rile Mikey up. “You do kinda look like Luke Perry.”

Voices shrieked down the street, drawing their attention. They watched as a paisley-sheeted ghost chased two cheerleaders into the house. Gerard caught a flash of ass cheek. How the fuck were they not cold? Gerard dropped his butt, scuffing it out with the toe of his boot. He was rethinking his costume when Mikey threaded his arm through Gerard’s.

“C’mon, Wonder Woman. Let’s go in before you freeze your tits off.”

*

Mikey opened the front door and released a wave of heat. Reluctance went out with the cold and Gerard elbowed in ahead of him. Inside, it was loud and dark, people packed together like sweaty sardines, but at least it was warm. 

Mikey shrugged off his hoody and tugged on Gerard’s sleeve. “Gimme your jacket.” As Gerard handed it over, goosebumps prickled up along his bare arms. He hated wearing short sleeves in public. What had he been thinking, going sleeveless with his pasty, noodle arms? 

No. He flipped his wig out of his eyes. He was a superheroine, and superheroines wore whatever the fuck they wanted to and certainly weren’t insecure about it. Gerard tried to hold his head high as he and Mikey navigated the throngs of party-goers. 

There were no familiar faces unless you counted Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees. Drunken nurses, dancing bedsheets, ghouls and zombies galore—everyone had a drink in their hand. Red Solo cups, bottles of beer, shots of God knows what. Radioactive green stuff in test tubes. Purple Jello shots. 

They entered a dimly lit kitchen. Orange and black gels taped over the overhead lights cast a murky haze over the room. Clusters of people shouted louder than necessary and every available surface was strewn with Halloween-themed snacks. Cookies shaped like body parts, vegetables cut and arranged into a skeleton, novelty cupcakes, dip served in a small pumpkin. 

Mikey made a beeline for the keg and Gerard pretended not to care. He spotted a pyramid of soda cans across the room. On closer inspection, the top layers were all sickly-sweet flavours like orange and cream soda. Gerard put his hands on his hips and considered his options.

When Mikey returned with a red Solo cup and an apologetic smile. Gerard forced a shrug and didn’t ask what was in it. Instead, he coaxed a can of Diet Coke out from the bottom of the stack.

“Admit it. I’m a Jenga champ.” Victorious, Gerard held up his prize and cracked the top. “Mmm… soda-licious!”

“You’re such a dork.” Mikey drank to hide his smile.

“Whassup, Mikey Way! Who’s the chick?” 

Mikey lowered his cup and squinted over Gerard’s shoulder. “Um, my brother, actually.”

“Your what?” The man got so close, his voice rattled Gerard’s wig. His heart jumped and he spun around. When he got a whiff of beer he leaned back against the counter. The guy was short and stocky with a pale face, round like the moon. The only hint of a costume was a cheap plastic goalie mask tucked atop his head. 

“This is my brother, dickweed,” Mikey said without venom. The guy gave Gerard a jolly grin and tilted his head to and fro. His eyes were bloodshot like he was stoned. It was awkward as fuck so Gerard stuck out his hand and introduced himself. The guy stared for an uncomfortable amount of time before shouting out, “Ha!” He slapped a meaty hand into Gerard’s, pumping it up and down. “Shit, dawg, fucking fooled me. What are you supposed to be? That gymnast from the Olympics or something?”

Mikey bared his fangs. “Don’t you know Wonder Woman?”

“Nah,” he replied. “Dope costume though.” Gerard thanked him, trying to halt the handshake before the guy shook his arm from its socket. His eyebrows went up. “No, seriously, I really thought you were a chick.”

The Jason Voorhees wannabe looked up and down the length of his body. His glassy eyes lingered on Gerard’s non-existent boobs—triple A's if you counted the padded bra built into the tank top. Gerard crossed his arms over his chest and shot Mikey a desperate look. 

“Hambone, cut it the fuck out,” Mikey said when it became clear that he was too busy ogling Gerard to introduce himself. “Gerard, this is John. He works at Kinko’s.”

“Call me Hambone. I don’t just work at Kinko’s—I have a band,” John complained. “I play bass.”

“Okay… nice to meet you, Hambone,” Gerard said politely. “And so you’re aware, most women don’t appreciate being called chicks. It’s sexist and condescending.”

“Uh, okay,” John replied, confused. “But you’re a not a woman.”

Gerard opened his mouth to reply but Mikey spoke first. “Hey, have you seen Ray Toro around?” 

“Don’t think so.” John grabbed a handful of baby carrots and started chomping away as he talked. “Lotsa people here. There’s better shit in the basement.” He motioned at Gerard’s Diet Coke. “Don’t you wanna real drink? I thought only chicks drank that stuff?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Gerard said tightly.

“Hey, Mikey, we got a gig tomorrow night. You gonna come take some fancy pictures for me to put on our website?” 

“I'll check my schedule,” Mikey replied. “Saturday's a busy night and there might be someone better playing.”

John made a face. “Fuck you man, we’re the best.”

“Well, I’m not your personal photographer, so I’ll think about it.”

“Cool.” He motioned at Gerard with his eyes. “Your girl here looks bored.” He laughed at his own joke, nudging Gerard with his elbow. 

Before Gerard could have a fit, Mikey hauled him away, calling out “See you later!” over his shoulder.

The next hour or two of encounters continued in the same manner. Gerard was introduced to a bunch of people and broke out in a sweat as he promptly forgot everyone’s names. Mikey snapped enough photos to fill his memory card. Tons of Gerard. He let himself enjoy the attention and sassed it up for the camera, pretending it was 1975 instead of 2004 and he was Lynda Carter getting stalked by a paparazzo.

No one tried to punch him out, although he quickly tired of the casual ass-grabs and men searching for the meaning of life in his bosom. It wasn’t the first time he’d worn a dress, but in the past, he’d taken it more seriously. Tried to convince people—strangers mostly—that he was a woman. Tonight it was merely a costume.

They explored the main floor until they found a staircase spiralling down to the basement. As they descended, the music dimmed and the drone of lowered voices took over. In a concerted effort to find Ray, Gerard and Mikey split up. 

The distinctive scent of weed hung in the air, explaining the chill atmosphere. Gerard had zero interest in smoking pot. He hadn’t touched it since he was a teenager. Several trips to Paranoia-Ville and a few nights spent puking his guts out nipped that one in the bud. His demons were of a different variety.

When he discovered a bathroom, he slipped inside to piss. He locked the door and gave the handle a jiggle for good measure. Then came the production of getting his dick out without ruining his pantyhose. He gathered his skirt to keep it out of the line of fire. The flared fabric appropriately hid his manhood; he wasn’t a fan of the tuck-and-tape. Instead, he wore a pair of plain blue briefs to keep his junk in place. Needless to say, navigating his outfit was serious fucking business.

The flowery soap lingered on his hands as he dried them. When he caught his reflection in the mirror he sucked his cheeks in and turned his head from side-to-side, trying to decide if he was more attractive as a woman. Try as he might, he only saw himself, sweaty Gerard Way with smudged eyeliner and too much sparkle.

Outside, a girl dressed like Alice in Wonderland was leaning against the wall. She looked bored, so Gerard flashed her a Cheshire grin as they crossed paths. She complimented his costume before retreating into the bathroom. He continued down the hall with a lightness in his steps.

At the end was a huge rec room, the focal point of which was a big-screen television. At first, Gerard thought the people crammed on the sofas and gathered on the floor were watching a movie, but then he spotted the game controllers. They were playing some sort of shooter game. And where there were video games, there would be Mikey Way. 

Gerard picked his way over beer cans and party-goers planted to the floor as he scanned the room for his brother. He grinned when he spotted not only Mikey but also his knight-in-shining-armour.

Mikey sat on the floor, cross-legged with a bowl of Cheetos in his lap and his attention focused on the TV screen. Ray stood beside him, decked out in plastic armour. He was waving his hands like he was performing an interpretive dance, his dandelion puff of hair bouncing with every gesture. Gerard snorted. He knew from experience competing with a video game for Mikey’s attention was a lost cause.

“Gerard! Oh my God, your costume is fantastic!" Ray dropped his charade and pulled Gerard in for a thorough hugging. "Mikey told me you were a princess, but I thought he was being a jerk!” Gerard pulled back with a grin as Ray continued. “I guess I should call you Princess Diana of Themyscira.” He bowed and his hair followed, flopping forward as he bent over. “At your service my princess.”

“Please, my humble servant.” Gerard tossed his head back and pressed a hand to his heart. “It’s Diana Prince, to you, mere mortal.”

“You mock me, milady! “ Ray swiftly unsheathed a plastic sword with a whoosh. He aimed it at Gerard’s jugular. “For that, you will pay dearly.”

“Save me, Mikey, you’re my only hope!” Gerard kicked Mikey in the shin. He didn’t flinch.

“You can’t mix medieval times with the Justice League and expect The Force to save you. It doesn’t work like that.” Mikey shoved his glasses back in place and gave Gerard a look of disdain. “They’ll revoke your nerd card for saying shit like that.” Both Gerard and Ray bust a gut laughing at Mikey’s expression. When he rolled his eyes and turned back to the TV, Gerard used the opportunity to steal a handful of Cheetos. 

While Mikey barked unhelpful comments at the gamers, Gerard and Ray settled side-by-side on the carpet to catch up. Ray had studied film but had yet to find work steady enough to pay the bills. Everything was low-to-no pay, and as a PA, his days were long and spent standing around with a walkie-talkie. To compensate for the lack of money, he worked at a video store. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was cutting a horror movie and trying to plan a wedding for next June.

Eventually, Mikey cajoled his way onto the sofa and into the game. His gameplay was cutthroat, a steady stream of snide remarks spewed from his mouth. He sounded like their grandma when she watched WWF wrestling on Sunday afternoons. Gerard recognized the blood-thirsty look in Mikey’s eye as he sank deeper into the cushions, hammering buttons as though his life depended on it.

Gerard put his brother in a headlock. When he spoke into his ear his hair smelled suspiciously like weed. “You are dead to me, brother.” Mikey startled and dropped his controller in his lap.

“Gerard!” Mikey’s avatar crumpled to his death and his competition cheered. “Now I am dead, you fucker.”

“Sorry, Mikey. But I didn’t come to a party to watch you play video games.” When Mikey ignored him, he turned to Ray. “What’ll it be?”—he gestured at the TV—“Team Mindless-Fun-You-Can-Have-At-Home? Or Team Dance Cave?”

Before Mikey could shoot another alien, Ray had stripped off his armour and abandoned his sword. He threw his hands in the air. “Time to dance, baby!”

Mikey paused the game, garnering a round of groans from the room. He reached back and seized Gerard’s arm, yanking him over the back of the sofa. “Come and get me when you wanna leave, okay?” Gerard nodded and tried to pull away. His face heated up—people were watching. “Or if anyone gives you shit.”

Mikey released Gerard and said to Ray, “Don’t let anyone give Gerard shit or feel him up or”—

“What if Gerard wants to be felt up?” Gerard interrupted.

“Unless Gerard wants to be felt up,” Mikey amended and made a face. “Ugh. Gross, Gee. You guys are excused.” Mikey dismissed them with a wave and started the game again.

Halfway up the stairs, Ray stopped. “Why’s he all weird? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s great.” Gerard flapped a hand at Ray. “Mikey’s being Mikey, y’know? He still hasn’t grasped the line between supportive and smothering.”

Ray nodded. “The last time he came over he spent the afternoon poring over bridal magazines with Izzy. He even went dress shopping with her and her friends. I swear, he has more opinions about my wedding than I do!”

“In the summer, he came with me to a club—to be supportive—and then spent the night telling me I could do better, every time a guy so much as glanced at me.”

Ray snorted in sympathy. With a mutual shake of their heads, they went upstairs.

Calling it a dance cave had been accurate. It was dark and dank with some Top 40 pop song reverberating off the walls. The room was jam-packed with folks adorned with rubber masks, capes and crowns and as Gerard pulled Ray into the crowd they were showered with glitter.

They fell into the abyss, getting smushed and spun around in a sea of sweaty bodies. Everybody danced to their own rhythm. With wandering eyes, Gerard tracked drunken smiles and subtle glances. Limbs loose and warm, he let the music move him. There were touches—a hand at his waist, hip-bumps, arms brushing his—all fleeting and without pretence.

He lost track of Ray, content to rave on as he connected with the strangers surrounding him. For once, he fit in as just another warm body in the crowd. 

At some point, he caught the eye of a dark-haired stranger. He watched Gerard for a couple of minutes before fumbling towards him. His movements were clumsy but he danced like he meant it, so Gerard let him press into his back. They moved together and Gerard luxuriated in the sensation of another body against his own. The hard planes. The heat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that close to a stranger, but it was good.

They danced until the heat grew stifling and the guy started running his hands up and down Gerard’s arms. He tightened his fingers around Gerard’s biceps, reeling him in closer. Uncomfortably close. When the guy pressed his mouth to Gerard’s neck, Gerard abruptly stepped out of the embrace. Like that, his calm had been broken.

“Sorry, I need water,” he muttered over his shoulder.

Heart pounding, Gerard squeezed his way through the room, separating himself from the crowd as he retreated to the kitchen. He didn’t check to see if the guy was following him. He wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

Sweat trickled down his back under his top. He wiped a hand across his forehead and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. He downed it quickly and grabbed another, the plastic crinkling as he heaved the door shut. When he turned around, he landed face-to-face with his dark-haired dancing partner.

“Hi,” Gerard said, slightly out of breath. He offered up the other bottle. Instead of cracking it open, the guy tossed it on the counter.

“Hi, yourself, gorgeous.” His eyes were on Gerard’s throat as he drained the bottle.

Gerard choked on his water and coughed. Fan-fucking-tastic. How drunk was this guy? Wary, Gerard inched backwards. But the guy read it as an invitation and edged closer. The musky stench of sweat grew stronger as Gerard noticed the pit stains on the guy's t-shirt.

“I’m Trent. I like your costume.” He touched Gerard’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”

“Um, not interested.” Gerard shrugged his hand off. This guy was way too forward. 

Trent huffed, his breath reeking of beer. He swayed, and with determination, backed Gerard up against the cupboards. “You’re a pretty girl. Don’t tell me you’re not flattered.” He planted his hands on the counter behind Gerard, effectively boxing him in. 

“I’m not a girl and I’m not flattered.” Gerard grit out. He tried to side-step out of his arms, but Trent didn’t move a muscle. Unfortunately, Trent was built like a fucking tank.

“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t be like that.”

Gerard clenched his jaw as he was hit with remorse. He’d been kidding when he’d said he was worried about someone getting handsy with him, and yet there he was, cornered by some meathead who didn’t understand the word ‘no’. He considered kicking him in the balls, a message Trent might understand at a primal level.

He shoved at Trent’s arm—Trent grabbed Gerard’s wrists, pinning them against the hard edge of the counter. He pressed his body along Gerard’s. Trent’s dick was hard. When he rubbed himself against Gerard’s thigh, his vision went white and his body went cold. He bit his tongue to control his panic. He had to get out of there.

“Trent! Hey, Trent!” A couple of guys scanned the kitchen. 

“Can’t you see I’m busy, bros?” Trent said over his shoulder. Gerard squirmed and Trent tightened his grip. His wrists ached when he tried to wrench them free.

His ‘bros’ moved in closer. “You know that’s not a girl, right?” Collectively, they snickered.

Gerard rolled his eyes. Duh.

Trent stared hard at Gerard, then at his buddies who had crowded around them. “That’s fucking Gerard Way”—one of them motioned at Gerard—“you know, that fucking faggot that got Ethan kicked out of school.”

Gerard’s stomach dropped. Fuck. He hadn’t heard that name for a long time. His heart shuddered like a machine gun and he swayed under a spell of dizziness. His ears started ringing and he felt floaty like his feet were no longer touching the floor.

Without warning, Trent’s hands encircled Gerard’s throat. He lost his bearings and for a moment everything went dark. Gerard struggled and scrambled to push him away, managing to smack Trent in the face. Trent squeezed harder. 

It hurt like a motherfucker. His throat spasmed and he tried to cough, but he couldn't get enough air. Instead, his breath wheezed out painfully and he saw stars. Was this how he met his end? Choked to death at a party in sequins and a padded chest? He prayed that Mikey wouldn’t find him.

“You little shit.” One of them spat and a fat, foul glob stuck to his cheek like rotten fruit. “Ethan’s my cousin. He got fucked out of going to college because of you, you faggy piece of shit. He had a scholarship to Michigan State and now he’s fucking pumping gas.” He finished by cuffing Gerard upside the head hard enough to displace his wig over his forehead.

The impact hurt but it was enough to loosen Trent’s iron grip. Gerard sucked in a breath of air. If he was going down in a fucking Better Homes and Gardens kitchen, he wasn’t going down without a fight.

He fired back, “He fucked himself out of College. He went to prison because he’s a psychopathic homophobe. And if you had any sense of self-preservation you’d leave me the fuck alone before you end up like he did.”

With a snarl, Gerard clenched his fists and kneed Trent in the groin. With any luck, he'd nailed him somewhere tender and delicate. Trent howled like a dog and his grip slackened. But Gerard couldn’t escape. Suddenly, hands were everywhere, holding him down as Ethan’s cousin punched him in the stomach. He doubled over, struggling to breathe.

“Hey! What’re you dipshits doing?” A calm, but firm voice rang through the kitchen. “My dad’s a cop, motherfuckers. Are you gonna stop or should I give him a call?”

Synchronized, their heads jerked towards the voice. The distraction gave Gerard a precious moment to clamber away and out the back door. 

It led outside to the deck. He straightened his wig so he could see and stood frozen, eyes fixed on the door. Waiting for it to open. His heart rattled in an attempt to escape his chest. There were some muffled noises in the kitchen but no one came out.

He inhaled and the crisp air hit his lungs sharply. He clutched his chest with shaking hands. As the adrenaline wore off they shook harder. He was desperate for a cigarette but they were in his jacket, which was still inside the house. No fucking way was he going back in there. 

Swaying in the cold air, dizziness overcame him and he collapsed on the steps, counting his breaths in and out. His eyes welled up and tears slid down his cheeks, cold and wet. He made a mess of his face trying to wipe them off. Where’s a tissue when you need one? He should have padded his chest with Kleenex. He sniffled.

When the back door opened, the romping music scared the bejesus out of him. He startled, his heart racing, but he couldn’t move. The door slammed shut and someone clomped across the wooden deck, stopping right behind him. The bizarre notion went through his head, that if he stayed still they wouldn’t see him. He held his breath and tried to will himself invisible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I didn’t think I’d ever post this but then the reunion happened and I got all inspired and then quarantine happened and suddenly, I had all this free time.
> 
> This is completely written and quite long. Well, I still have to write the epilogue but it’s currently around 143,000 words. It has been revised to death, but only by me, so if you see any mistakes, typos or otherwise, feel free to let me know. I’d love to hear your comments, or heck, tell me how your day’s going! It’s been a long and lonely lockdown. 
> 
> Wherever you are, stay safe out there :)


	2. The Fear

“Those jerkoffs are gone. I was gonna call the cops but they ran off like the house was on fire.”

Okay, so Gerard hadn’t miraculously willed himself invisible. He wiped at his face and hugged his knees. So much for being a superheroine. With kohl smudged around his eyes, he imagined he resembled a deranged raccoon.

The footsteps got closer and Gerard tensed.

He turned around slowly, poised to flee if necessary. A guy stood there with his hands resting on his hips. He had tattoos on his knuckles and a monster mask dangling from his fingers. He wasn’t very tall but he had the stance of someone self-assured and he was wearing a grin like a frigging lunatic. As he shook his dark hair away from his face, Gerard was struck by his good looks. Fuck. Gerard shrank back and tried to hide his face behind his over-styled strands of fake hair.

“Sorry,” the guy said with a chuckle before schooling his face into a solemn look. “But they were shitting themselves in there. It was hilarious. Too bad you missed it.” He bit back a smile, moonlight glinting from the ring in his lip. “You got one of 'em good—he was limping, all red-faced, huffing and puffing and”—he stopped to dig into his pocket. “Hey, are you okay?” He offered Gerard a package of tissues and his outstretched arm caused Gerard's heart to accelerate.

After a beat, Gerard accepted them with a clammy hand. “I’m not actually a damsel in distress.”

The guy rolled his eyes with amusement. “I didn’t ask if you’re a chick, I asked if you’re okay.” From another pocket, he produced a bottle of water which he also offered to Gerard.

At least he was sincere. Instead of biting back, Gerard let out a soft sigh and thanked him. He wet a tissue and wiped the smudged makeup and salt lines from his face. The guy watched him, chewing on his lip ring and shifting back and forth as though he couldn’t decide whether to stay or go. He made a decision and walked the few steps down to the yard so he could face Gerard. 

“I’m Frank,” he said with an outstretched hand. A smirk tugged at the corner of Gerard’s mouth but he didn’t return the gesture. “That’s my name, I mean.” When Gerard didn’t react, he huffed and held the mask over his face, groaning. “Nrgghgh! Me Frankenstein.”

Gerard snorted. “Frankenstein was the doctor.”

Frank removed the mask. “I know, I know,” he muttered and then gestured at the steps beside Gerard. “Do you mind?”

“I can’t very well say no, now, can I?” Gerard motioned at the water and tissues.

“Of course, you can.”

Gerard twisted to lean back against the railing, mindful of keeping his knees together. He patted the wooden deck, indicating that Frank could sit down. Frank slouched against the opposite side and pulled out a pack of smokes. “Diana, right?” He wiggled his eyebrows like he got the joke and lit a cigarette. “Nice cape.”

Gerard cringed—what had Frank seen in the kitchen? Did he see Trent hit on him thinking he was a girl? At what point did Frank get that Gerard was a dude in a dress? A god-awful-looking one, at that. 

Frank brushed his hair to the side and Gerard got distracted by the elegant arch of his eyebrows. When Frank blew out a puff of smoke his hand lingered in the air and Gerard’s eyes were drawn to the cigarette with desperate longing.

“You want one?” Frank offered him the pack. 

“Thanks.” Gerard slid one out and accepted Frank’s lighter. He lit it with a flick and inhaled, the nicotine hitting him with relief. His whole body relaxed.

They smoked in silence for a few minutes, gazing out at the moonlit lawn. A dog barked a few doors down. Frank glanced at him now and then but said nothing. He had really pretty eyes. Frank turned his head and Gerard quickly looked back to the yard. When he blew into the night he could see his breath, a faint puff of white. He shivered and tightened into a ball.

Tucking his cigarette in the side of his mouth, Frank shrugged off his denim jacket and passed it to Gerard.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Gerard refused. “It’s not that cold.”

“You’re shaking. I can see the goosebumps on your arms.” Frank shook the jacket at him. “Wear it until you’ve warmed up. I’ve got layers to spare.” 

“Aren't you the boy scout?" Gerard slipped on the jacket. The denim was stiff from the cold but it had a comfortable smell, like Italian home-cooking and minty like Vicks VapoRub. “What’s with all the clothes?” Frank had a second jacket under the first one as well as a hooded sweatshirt.

Frank blew out a stream of smoke. “I get sick a lot.”

“You could wear a warmer jacket? A parka or something?” Gerard inhaled, smoke filling his lungs. He blew out the side of his mouth and waved his cigarette around. “Instead of two coats? It’s sweltering inside. How are you not all sweaty? Do you like, put on a bunch of layers when you get up, or do you accumulate articles of clothing as the day progresses? How long do you spend getting dressed in the morning?” Gerard took another anxious puff. “You must do a ton of laundry.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “You wanna hear about how I get dressed in the morning?”

“No,” Gerard sputtered as his cheeks heat up. The nicotine had coaxed him into submission and his mouth had gotten away from him. Amused, Frank sucked his cigarette down to the filter, squished the butt into the railing and then tossed it into the grass. Gerard pulled the jacket tighter. “Is your dad really a cop?”

“No, my dad’s a drummer,” Frank said with glee. “But no one was doing shit and I wasn’t about to watch those assholes beat the crap out of you.”

“Oh, well…” Gerard finished his smoke and stubbed it out. “Thank you.” A wave of emotion flooded his chest and he stared down at the scuffed toes of his boots. “I thought all that high school bullshit was over, y’know?” Tears pricked at his eyes, but he held them back. “If I’d known those guys were going to be here I wouldn’t have come. I should have stayed home.”

“Fuck that shit.” Frank's perfect brows creased into a scowl. “You didn’t do anything wrong—they’re the ones who shouldn’t be here. Doesn’t matter what you did—it’s not okay to harass people like that.”

Gerard bit his lip to stop the tears welling in his eyes. Crying alone was therapeutic, but crying in front of handsome strangers was decidedly not. He sniffled, wiping his nose before it could start leaking on him again.

“Sorry, I used all your tissues.” He stuffed the last crumpled one in his pocket. 

Frank gave Gerard a lingering look and then offered another cigarette as a substitute. This time, Gerard leaned in and let Frank light it for him. They locked eyes. His stomach swooped and again he noticed how attractive Frank was. Fearful that Frank could see right through him, Gerard looked away. Tapping ash into the wind, he blew a slow stream out of the corner of his mouth.

He twitched when he could feel Frank’s eyes on him. Taking another drag, he side-eyed Frank as he exhaled.

“You’re staring at my mouth.” Gerard caught Frank’s eyes as they shot up to meet his own.

“I wasn’t!” Frank leaned back as his gaze flicked back to Gerard’s mouth. “I was”—

“It’s okay, I’m used to it,” Gerard interrupted him. “I have nerve damage in my face. From an accident.” He tapped his cigarette, watching the ash float to the ground. “That’s why I talk weird.”

“You talk fine—it’s cute.” Frank met his eyes and sputtered out, “I mean, I wasn’t staring at your mouth.” Frank betrayed his words as he licked his lips.

“Okay, whatever.” Gerard bit his lip to keep from grinning because he was right. “Stare all you want.”

“Well, I am now!” Frank complained, waving his hands around. “Because you’re talking about it. It’s like telling a kid he can only have one piece of Halloween candy. Say that, and that’s all he’s gonna think about. If I tell you not to think about, um, cheeseburgers, that’s all you’re gonna think about, isn’t it?”

Gerard recoiled. “I don’t eat meat.”

“But you get my point?” Gerard nodded and decided that Frank was pretty fucking cute. “Great, now I want some candy and a cheeseburger,” Frank grumbled. 

“I don’t know about burgers but there’s candy corn and Tootsie Pops in the kitchen.”

“Eh. Doesn’t matter. I can't eat either.” He shuddered and tucked his hands into his opposite sleeves. “Pretty much everything that tastes good makes me sick.”

Gerard thought about booze but didn’t share his sentiment aloud. Frank’s flailing arms had rucked up his sleeves and Gerard caught a glimpse of tattoos peeking out at his wrists. But he didn’t ask, because he didn’t want to point out that he was staring at Frank’s hands. It suddenly reminded him that Ethan’s cousin Trent had had his hands around Gerard’s neck. Impulsively, Gerard covered his throat in defence.

“How’s your neck?” Frank pointedly looked at Gerard’s fingers where they grazed his collarbone. 

“Uh,” Gerard stuttered and dropped his hands into his lap. “It’s fine.” It still hurt to swallow but he hadn’t been choked unconscious, so he counted that as a win. His stomach hurt and his wrists were ringed with marks. Nothing his body wouldn’t easily recover from. How it would affect his mental state, well, that was another thing. But a random hot guy at a party didn’t need to know how fucking fragile he was.

“You should press charges on those asshats. There were witnesses. You could get a restraining order or something?” Frank offered.

“I’m sure they’ll realize how stupid they were, come morning. They were all pretty drunk.” And Gerard had had enough of police reports, lawyers, and being afraid.

“So, you knew those guys?”

“No, not really.” Gerard leaned against the railing and stared out at the lawn for the umpteenth time. Frank was right. Trying to not think about something was a direct path to obsessing over it. He pulled the jacket sleeves down over his hands and thought once again that his instincts to stay home had been right.

Eventually, Frank stood and stretched. “Do you want a drink or something? Water? I bet I could find you some more Kleenex?”

Gerard shook his head. He was monopolizing Frank’s time. “You should go hang out with your friends.” They were at a party, after all. Gerard stood up, removing Frank’s jacket.

“No, no.” Frank refused it. “I’ll come back, I promise. I have to pee but I was trying to be polite,” Frank admitted.

“Oh!” Gerard squawked, awkwardly holding Frank’s jacket in his hands. “Okay.” 

“Give me five minutes and I’ll be back. I promise.”

The second the door closed, Gerard bolted. Too much had happened. His nerves were raw and his entire body hurt. He draped Frank's jacket over the railing and swallowed down the guilt as he ran away. 

Guided by the light of the moon, he stumbled along the deck and down the side of the house. Once on the front lawn, he hesitated—he had to get his jacket from inside the house. And his fucking cigarettes. No way was he was traipsing through the party to find Mikey, but he would risk the front foyer for his coat. He could wait in the car. Mikey would understand.

An hour later that’s where Mikey found him—sitting in the driver’s seat with the window cranked and puffing on a cigarette. 

“Gee, what the fuck? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Mikey jogged up to the side of the car and leaned against it, panting.

Gerard leaned his head out the window. Mikey’s glasses were fogged up. Gerard prayed that he wouldn’t see the discarded butts on the pavement. “You ready to head home?” Mikey ran his fingers through Gerard’s hair a few times, fluffing it up. It was matted from wearing the wig all night. “How long have you been out here?”

“A while.” He closed his eyes, hoping Mikey would keep petting him.

Taking the last drag, he flicked the butt near Mikey's feet. Who of course watched its path so he could step on it when it hit the ground. He didn’t point out the other casualties on the sidewalk, but he had seen them. Mikey looked down at Gerard and carefully moved his fingers from his hair to his face.

“You’re all smudged.” He rubbed a thumb under his eye. “Were you crying?”

“Yes.” Gerard bristled as he remembered. “I’m fine though. Can we go home?”

“I have to tell Ray we're leaving. He was worried when he couldn’t find you.” Mikey gave Gerard a thoughtful look and one more pat on the head. He whipped out his phone and texted Ray as he walked around the car. It was a wonder he didn’t trip. In one smooth motion, Mikey slid into the passenger seat and turned his eyes on Gerard.

“You gonna tell me what happened?” It wasn’t a question. Privacy was a foreign concept between them. Mikey gave him a look—a force Gerard couldn’t fight—and he huffed as though he had a choice. 

Finally, he replied, “I was hiding.” Mikey gripped his phone tighter and leaned closer. Tension pooled in his gut and instead of telling Mikey about Trent and Ethan’s cousin he rattled on about Frank. “He listened to me talk for like an hour and I don’t even know why. He probably thinks I’m a psycho.”

“Was he flirting with you?”

“No.” Gerard frowned and chew on a nail. “Maybe. He was being nice.”

“He liked you, doofus.” Mikey relaxed and gave Gerard a light shove.

“I was cold and he gave me his jacket. And he wasn’t annoyed that I used all his tissues.”

Mikey snorted, but couldn’t contain his amusement and burst out laughing.

“Shut up!” Gerard groaned as he was struck with a pang of regret. “I know I shouldn’t have run away, but we started smoking and I started talking and—I talked too much. I always talk too much.”

Mikey got control of himself and sounded sad when he said, “Aw, Gee, I’m sorry.” Mikey paused. “He probably liked listening to you talk. Why were you outside crying in the first place? What happened?”

“Not now, okay?” He replied. “I’ll tell you when we get home.” Mikey gripped his arm and his eyebrows knit together. Gerard shook his head. “Look, shit happened, I talked it out with a cute guy, and everything’s fine now.”

“Everything’s fine,” Mikey repeated flatly.

“C’mon, Mikey,” Gerard pleaded, “Not now.”

Mikey sighed and let go of his arm so he could start the car. 

*

The next morning, Gerard woke to Mikey perched on his bed, notepad in his lap and tapping a pen on it impatiently. He pulled the blanket over his head, but Mikey’s stubborn presence prevented him from falling back to sleep. The tap-tap-tap grew louder and louder and he yanked the blanket down.

“Do you mind?” 

The noise stopped and Mikey stared at him with his pen poised in the air. He shot Gerard a silent demand with a single arched eyebrow.

“What do you want?” Gerard groaned.

It was too early for one of Mikey’s existential dilemmas. Given he was an early riser like his dad, Mikey’s favourite Saturday morning activity was working through his problems in a battered Lisa Frank notebook covered with fucking rainbow kittens and psychedelic flowers. With help from Gerard, whether he’d had coffee yet or not. Usually not.

Previous gems included: Does God exist? (Conclusion: Yes. Morrissey is God and The Queen is Dead should be taken as gospel.) What would happen if Batman was bitten by a vampire? (Conclusion: He’d sink his teeth into fighting crime at night. Not in vein. And he’d make a bloody meal out of it. Mikey groaned at Gerard’s lame puns and Gerard pointed out that Andy Warhol had made Batman Dracula in the ’60s.) Is chocolate a vegetable? (Conclusion: Yes. It comes from cocoa beans and all beans are vegetables, although Mikey had no luck convincing their mom come dinner time.)

If you tied buttered toast to the back of a cat and dropped it, which side would land on the floor? (Experiment notes: Out of ten, eight times the cat would land on its feet, shake off the toast and lick the butter off, one time it would flail mid-air and land on its side with the butter-side stuck to its back, and one would scratch the shit out of you and take off before the toast was secure. Ten times out of ten Gerard laughed his ass off.)

Gerard’s favourite Saturday morning activity was sleeping until lunchtime.

“Is that one of my Copic’s?” Gerard rubbed his sleep-crusted eyes to better see the pen in Mikey’s hand.

“It’s red.” Mikey wiggled it in the air. “Red for loooooove,” he crooned. “I’m going to find your mystery man.”

“Oh.” Gerard ignored the flutter in his stomach. Mikey bopped Gerard on the nose with his expensive art marker. Lipstick Red. How frigging appropriate. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?” Mikey pushed. “You obviously like him and he obviously likes you—what’s the problem?” 

“He doesn’t like me.”

“You said he was flirting with you.”

“Some people flirt with everyone. Especially straight guys.”

Mikey scribbled something and then tore the page out of the notebook. “Fine. I don’t need your help anyway—I made a list myself.” He waved the sheet under Gerard’s nose. 

“What’s on your list then, hotshot?”

The list started with facts, like a short, dark-haired male in his twenties, hand tattoos and food allergies, but quickly mutated into existential musings—his smile is the embodiment of sunshine and rainbows and has an ass he’d like to—

“Mikey! What the fuck?” Gerard used all of his energy to wrench the paper from Mikey's fingers. They wrestled for a moment and Gerard won. Mikey landed on the floor with a thud and cackled as he rolled out of striking distance of Gerard’s foot. “I swear to God, if you don't stay out of it, I’ll flush your iPod down the toilet.” 

Mikey leapt up and snatched the list from Gerard. He folded it into a perfect square that he tucked in his pocket.

“Mikey, please don’t,” Gerard begged. “I don’t even think he’s gay.” He fell back against the headboard, shoulders sagging. “I love you but you need to stay out of my personal life.”

Mikey pushed his glasses up his face and took in the miserable expression on Gerard’s face. With an eye-roll that had to hurt, he retrieved the folded paper from his pocket and flicked it on Gerard’s bed.

“I’ll stay out of it, but you’re gonna have to start dating again someday.”

“I date.” Gerard frowned and yanked his blanket up to his chin.

“You pick up guys who don’t give a shit about you and then you’re surprised when they dump you a few weeks later,” Mikey said. “And you haven’t even done that in months.”

“Stop keeping tabs on my sex life. It’s creepy.”

Mikey crossed his arms. “I want you to be happy.”

“I’d be happy if you let me go back to sleep.”

Leaving Gerard with a resigned sigh, Mikey went upstairs. Gerard didn’t go back to sleep. He unfolded Mikey’s list and grabbed a pen from his nightstand, uncapping it with his teeth. He added a question mark after Frank’s name—he wasn’t certain it hadn’t been a joke—and drew the Frankenstein mask from memory. Then he roughed out a figure, adding layers for clothing and feathering out the hair.

The night before, Gerard had kept his word and told Mikey everything. They huddled together on Gerard’s bed as he recounted the incident in the kitchen. Gerard smoked his way through two cigarettes and Mikey listened, the expression on his face growing increasingly more furious. 

“What the fucking shit, Gerard?” Mikey shook with frustration. “I had no idea that piece of shit had a cousin and I can’t believe he had the gall to assault you at a fucking party.” He hugged Gerard and touched their heads together. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. You could press charges and get a restraining order, you know.”

Gerard snorted. “That’s what Frank said.”

“Well, he’s right,” Mikey muttered into Gerard’s hair.

Gerard pulled out of Mikey’s arms to look him in the eye. “I’m not going through a bunch of shit with the police again.” At Mikey’s look, he shook his head emphatically. “I fucking can’t.” He stubbed out his cigarette in a dish on his nightstand.

“Gee, he could have hurt you,” Mikey said quietly.

“That’s not going to happen again, I promise.”

“You can’t promise shit like that.”

“Well, I just did. So, no more talking about it, alright?” He yanked Mikey back in for another hug, squeezing until Mikey wheezed in agreement.

Gerard sighed and studied his drawing. Not his best work but there was a resemblance. By now, bright light shone into the room in slivers, creeping through the gaps in the curtains like shards of glass. 

He still hadn’t adapted to early mornings and the Monday to Friday work schedule he'd started in September. He wanted to stay in bed all day to nap, smoke, doodle. But he had shit to do, so he grudgingly clambered out of bed.

It was almost noon. His mom had long gone to work. She had a hair salon downtown and it was the reason Gerard could maintain his crazy dye-jobs on the cheap. He loved going there and listening to the customer’s gossip about their neighbours while his mom gave them church-lady do’s. They called him ‘honey’ and patted his cheeks like he was a little kid. They’d probably have simultaneous heart attacks if they knew he was an atheist and enjoyed sucking cock, but he’d never tell them that. He had a soft spot in his heart for little old ladies even if they were close-minded and homophobic. Lucky for him, his grandmother loved him unconditionally.

His dad was in the kitchen making a sandwich, dressed like he’d either been out or was on his way. He wasn’t surprised to see Gerard all sleepy-eyed and still wearing his pyjamas.

“How was the party last night? You have fun?”

Gerard grunted his affirmation as he made a pot of coffee. He couldn’t tell his parents about all the shit with Ethan’s cousin. They’d worry. And he wasn’t about to mention Frank. His mom especially was way too interested in Gerard ‘meeting a nice boy’ and he likely wouldn’t even see Frank again. He’d screwed that up real good.

That left him telling his dad about the Halloween-themed snacks and updating him on Ray’s wedding plans. He also mentioned the booze. How it had been everywhere and he’d felt okay about it. How he’d wanted a drink but didn’t feel defeated by it. It was good for him to talk about it and he knew his dad wouldn’t worry the same way Mikey and his mom did. Somehow his dad understood that it meant he was getting better and not worse. The urge would never go away, he knew that. It was how he reacted to that urge that was important.

His dad pulled him into a side-hug. “You know we’re real proud of you, son.” Gerard made a face and his dad pinched his cheek until he stopped rolling his eyes. “Take the compliment, kid.”

Gerard made some toast to go with his coffee and joined his dad while he ate his lunch. Since Gerard had zero plans for the day, he let his dad tell him battle stories. He belonged to a group that did civil war reenactments. It blew Gerard’s mind that it was even a thing but his dad fucking loved it. Normally, his dad was quiet and pensive—left the talking to Gerard and his mom—unless you got him started about his hobby. Gerard had heard the stories countless times but like the rest of the family, indulged his dad because it made him happy.

Before his dad left to go strategize with his ‘war’ buddies he reminded Gerard to get the vacuuming done. As if he’d forget. It had been one of his chores since he was tall enough to reach the handle. 

Every Saturday afternoon he’d stick Parklife or Different Class into his Discman and vacuum. If no one else was home he’d sing along, dancing with the vacuum cleaner until the CD skipped. Mikey treated his iPod like a bar of gold wrapped in eggshells and wouldn’t let Gerard anywhere near it. But he didn’t care. He loathed the idea of shuffled songs, eternal playlists, and a distinct lack of a B side. When he had expressed that to Mikey, he had, with a straight face, called him barbaric.

Gerard was grateful his family gave a shit after everything he’d put them through. His parents never kicked him out and Mikey was always there in the morning to pour him into the shower. Mikey would have moved out years ago were it not for him; Gerard lived with that guilt every single day. It was one thing to have wasted years of his own life, but thinking about the sacrifices Mikey had made ate away at him.

Later that afternoon, Gerard lazed on the sofa, half-watching The Birds on PBS and drawing malformed people getting pecked to death by ravens. It wasn’t a coincidence they resembled the guys who had harassed him last night. He chewed on a nail. Had he gone overboard with the Lipstick Red blood?

The front door creaked open and Gerard was hit with the smell of burning leaves and coffee from his favourite shop, the one near Ray’s apartment.

Mikey could spend all day watching Ray hack away at his computer. The movie Ray was working on sounded cool—some indie horror thing about a killer at a mall—but Gerard would wait until it was done to watch it. How Mikey had the patience to sit and watch Ray trawl through hours and hours of footage, Gerard didn’t know. The only thing Gerard could liken it to was painting. He could easily lose hours and hours when an idea caught hold. 

Ray also had all the latest software and was something of a technical wizard. He’d set Mikey up with Photoshop, showing him all the cool shit he could do with filters and whatever. Gerard didn’t know. He fucking hated computers.

Mikey’s nose was pink from the cold. Gerard shivered and felt much more agreeable with the large paper cup warming his hands even though Mikey was bouncing on the couch cushion beside him.

“You were at Ray’s?” Gerard inhaled, relishing the smell of strong coffee.

“Yeah.” Mikey plunked his laptop onto the coffee table and squinted at the screen. “I found your guy.”

Gerard’s arm froze with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “My what?”

“I didn’t go looking, I swear,” Mikey blinked away from the screen, shooting Gerard a sincere look. “You should’ave told me he was in a band.”

“He’s in a band? He never said. How do you know it’s the same Frank?” He nudged Mikey with his foot. “Where are your glasses?”

Mikey huffed and pulled them out of his pocket. “Frank talked to Ray last night at the party. Turns out, Ray knows Frank from like, way back.” Mikey rubbed his eyes. “Remember that girl Maria? The one Ray dated from that Catholic school?” Mikey waited for Gerard’s nod before he continued. “She was friends with this girl, Rosa who was dating Frank, and I guess they double-dated a couple of times.” He cleaned the lenses with the bottom of his shirt and put them on, squinting at his laptop. “Frank asked him about you.” 

“What?” Gerard sputtered, losing a mouthful coffee down the front of his t-shirt. “What d’you mean?”

Mikey smirked and tapped a few keys.

“Mikey!” Gerard wiped at the stain and poked Mikey’s arm. “What did he say?”

“Uhh.” Mikey clicked away at the keyboard, mostly ignoring Gerard.

“Jesus, what are you doing?” Gerard was going to lose it.

“Looking for something.” Gerard heard the unspoken, ‘duh’ at the end.

“Mikey,” Gerard said sharply. “What did Ray say?”

“Huh?” Mikey glanced at Gerard.

“Oh my God, Mikey, you’re doing this on purpose,” Gerard complained. Fuck his life and his fucking evil brother. “What did Frank say about me?” Gerard was seconds away from dumping his coffee on the keyboard when Mikey stopped messing around and gave Gerard his full attention.

“I thought you didn’t care? Why are you acting like a teenager with your first crush?”

Gerard huffed. “Maybe I care a little. What did he say?”

“Apparently, he was asking everyone at the party about you, trying to find out who you are.”

“Oh great, everyone thinks I’m mentally unhinged as it is.” Gerard felt hot and started to panic. “I should have left sooner. Fuck. Why did I go at all?”

“Easy, Gee,” Mikey said. “He wanted to know who the guy in the Wonder Woman costume was. I doubt he went around telling everyone he rescued you from a bunch of bullies.”

“I guess.” Gerard breathed out. “You’re probably right.”

“Duh,” Mikey said affectionately. “Ray confirmed that he knew you, but that’s it. He didn’t even give him your name.” Mikey dug something out of his pocket and tossed it at Gerard. “He gave Ray this. That guy Hambone, from the party? He and Frank are in a band together.”

Gerard unfolded the pink square that turned out to be a photocopied flyer advertising a gig. “Pencey Prep.” He waved the flyer at Mikey. “Fuck. So you know him?”

“I’ve talked to him a couple of times but I don’t know much about him. I mostly know Hambone since he’s always nagging me to take pictures at their shows. Hambone’s a total tight-ass when he’s sober.”

Before Gerard could read through the flier, Mikey shoved his computer into Gerard's lap and motioned at the screen. “That’s Frank, right?”

It was a photo of Frank on stage, sweaty and gorgeous, and cradling his guitar like it was the love of his life. “There’s more.” Mikey cozied up to Gerard’s side and clicked through a series of band photos.

“These are amazing, Mikey!”

“Yeah? Thanks. I’ve seen them a bunch. They’re actually pretty good. Frank’s a fucking animal on stage. He moves around so much it’s hard to keep him in frame to get a good shot.” Mikey nudged Gerard’s shoulder. “So?”

“So… what?” Gerard asked.

“You wanna go to the gig tonight?” Mikey motioned at the flier.

“I don’t know.” Gerard picked at a hole in his jeans, feigning indifference. “I doubt he’ll even recognize me.”

“You mean you doubt he’ll like you not all done up.” Mikey gave him a pointed look. “There’s only one way to find out.” Gerard shrugged. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. “I gotta go snap some shots anyway. Come to the show and you can check him out. See how you feel. If you want to leave he never has to know you were there.”

His heart ramped up at the thought of seeing Frank again. He could do this. It might be nothing but if it was something? He ran a hand through his hair and cringed at the greasy texture. His brain flew into a tizzy—shower, shave, fix his fucking hair—what was he going to wear? He gave Mikey a desperate look. “Fuck, do I have time to do laundry?”


	3. Wishful Thinking

The Pencey Prep gig was at the Loop Lounge in Passaic. Gerard knew it well and drove there on autopilot. Risking his eyes off the road, he checked his hair in the rearview mirror. His mom had dyed it bright red a while ago and now his natural brown was showing at the roots. He couldn’t decide if it was good or bad as he ran a hand through it, trying to get it to sit right.

Mikey instructed him to park in the lot beside the club. He hopped out as Gerard did an anxious check for his wallet, smokes and lighter. They were all in his jacket because his jeans were too tight for the pockets to hold anything but lint.

When Mikey had caught him wearing his saggy old Levi’s, he had insisted Gerard squeeze into a better-fitting pair. Apparently, they made his ass look good. Gerard thought it was weird that Mikey should have an opinion on his ass, but there you go—Mikey was right.

“What have I got to lose?” Gerard said to himself in the mirror. He swiped at his eyes out of habit. He’d forgone eyeliner that night, his nerves making it impossible to draw a straight line.

Mikey, ever the social butterfly, knew every bouncer this side of the Hudson River. A simple nod got them into the club ahead of a long lineup. While Mikey scoped out the crowd, Gerard tugged at the collar of his jacket and tried to breathe. A bunch of clowns pushed by, reeking of booze and Gerard was knocked into a group of either goths or vampires. Once upon a time, he’d have known the difference. One of them sneered at his lingering stare and he quickly looked away. 

Mikey tugged his elbow and Gerard followed him through the crowd until they were squished up near the front with a great view of the stage. Mikey had his camera with him even though he was there to babysit Gerard. To distract Gerard, he flicked through his photos with a running commentary. One eye glued to the stage, Gerard half-listened, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

Another band—Pantomime Horse—played before Pencey Prep. Gerard clutched a water bottle in his hand like a lifeline as they introduced themselves. The singer snaked across the stage, singing in a strained voice. Any other night, Gerard would have been into it, but he couldn’t ignore the anticipation swirling around in his stomach. It scared the shit out of him.

He had enjoyed talking to Frank and presumably the feeling was mutual? Frank had invited him to the show. Although, he wasn’t convinced Frank would recognize him. If he was interested in Gerard because he looked like a girl, he was in for a great disappointment; Gerard wasn’t even wearing a costume.

When Frank walked on stage, Gerard ducked his head and bit back a smile. His stomach fluttered and his cheeks flushed. It was stupid to be nervous. Under the blinding lights, crushed between potheads and the mosh pit there was no way Frank could see him. 

The lights strobed and the band sprung into song. Frank hammered at his guitar like he was beating it into submission. Like it required a heavy hand to bring it to life. He screamed with purpose and played like he meant every goddamned note. Gerard spent most of the set trying to reconcile him with the sedate guy he'd met at the party.

Mikey spent the entire show snapping and clicking. When the band left the stage, Mikey nudged him. “Fucking dope, right?”

“Yeah,” Gerard replied. People flocked to the bar, jostling him with shoulder bumps and hands shoving him out of the way. “Now what? Do we stand around and wait or what?” The crowd closed in around him and he got the jitters. Mikey steered him to a bare patch of wall.

“You wanna stay, right?” Mikey looked him in the eye. “Talk to him?”

“He’s not going to recognize me. It’s dark in here.” Gerard chewed on a hangnail. “Maybe we should go.” Mikey gave him a look that said, ‘are you fucking serious?’, so he stopped talking and gave his nails a ragged manicure with his teeth.

Mikey hooked an arm around Gerard’s neck and leaned in. “Have faith, Gee. He invited you here. May as well talk to him.” He squeezed Gerard’s shoulder before letting go.

The bar was buried in a mass of people and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He should’ve asked Mikey to get him a Diet Coke. He nudged Mikey, who elbowed him back, motioning at the swarm of bodies in front of them. For a moment, he saw nothing but cheery faces chugging pints and sipping cocktails.

Then Frank emerged from the masses, beer in hand. It was striking how short he was. He’d been hidden behind a bunch of gangly teenagers and girls in heels. He was sweating in a red hoody and the maniacal grin was back. Gerard tore his fingers from his mouth and braced himself.

“Mikey-Fucking-Way,” Frank enthused to his brother. To his fucking brother.

“What’s up, man?” Mikey tilted his head and tucked his glasses up his nose.

“Thanks for coming.” Frank motioned at Mikey's camera. “Your photos are the best!” Maybe he winked at Gerard. It was pretty dark, so he couldn’t be sure. Sweat clung to the back of his neck. Instead of wiping it away, he crammed his hands in his pockets.

Frank chattered about lenses or something while Gerard lamented the fact that his brother’s reputation overshadowed Gerard’s very existence. The grin had yet to leave his face and Gerard thought it would be okay if Frank didn’t recognize him at all. Mikey and Frank could be BFF’s and Gerard would be satisfied being the awkward third wheel. Work kept him busy, anyway. He didn’t have the willpower to spend every weekend at a bar.

Then Frank turned his megawatt beam at Gerard. Raising those exceptional eyebrows, he motioned at his proffered hand.

“Hi.” Gerard cautiously shook Frank’s hand.

“Hey.” Frank shook harder and chuckled. “You gonna tell me your name, motherfucker, or do you want me to keep calling you Diana?”

The corner of Gerard’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Oh, no.” His cheeks got hot as he answered, “Gerard.” He firmed up his grip on Frank’s hand. “My name’s Gerard.”

Frank squeezed back and said, “Nice to see you again, Gerard,” and then let their hands drop. Although it was dark and Gerard was transfixed by Frank’s beatific face, he still caught Mikey rolling his eyes.

But because Mikey was a considerate brother, he left, promising to send Frank the photos from the gig. In return, Frank guaranteed Mikey a standing invitation to every Pencey Prep show in the Tri-state area. An invitation he extended to Gerard.

“I’m so excited you came to the show!” Frank bounced on his toes. “I love your hair!”

“I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me.” Gerard ran a self-conscious hand through his hair, messing it up. “You guys were awesome,” he added. “Like, totally awesome.”

“Awesome!” Frank repeated, oblivious of Gerard berating himself for breaking out in Valley Girl. Frank motioned at the bar with his half-full beer. “Let me get you a drink.” He grabbed Gerard's elbow and tugged him towards the bar.

Gerard stumbled, shaking free. “I’m okay.”

Frank stopped. “It’s cool. The band gets drinks on the house. We play here a lot and they’ll give me whatever I want.”

“Uh, I can’t drink, drink,” Gerard said quickly. “I’m on medication,” he lied. “Not for anything weird, or gross, um, you know…” he finished, flapping a hand around vaguely. Frank nodded even though he clearly didn’t understand. “Water though? Or a soda?” Before Gerard could answer, Frank gave him a knowing look. “I’ll surprise you.” 

The second Frank’s back was turned, Gerard patted his hair to tame the fly-aways and followed Frank to the bar. The bartender looked amused when Frank leaned across the counter to speak into her ear. He was more or less hanging over the bar, feet dangling off the floor. With a nod, she filled two glasses with ice, soda, and tiny red straws. Before sliding them across the bar, she topped them off with a couple of honest-to-goodness real cherries.

“Cherry Coke with extra cherries.” Frank handed over a glass and waited expectantly.

Gerard teased the straw into his mouth with his tongue and took a sip. The cherry-flavoured soda hit his tastebuds and he almost gagged at how sweet it was. He tried not to make a face. Frank swigged his beer and Gerard forced a smile. “Yum… s’good.”

“Should we find a table?” Frank glanced around the room. “It's quieter in the back.”

“Frank.” John had appeared out of the crowd and grabbed Frank by the bicep, effectively getting his attention. His brows were pinched together and he was all sweaty and wild-eyed. “No,” Frank said firmly. “Whatever it is—no frigging way. I’m busy.”

“You got no choice here.” John gave Gerard a curious look and continued, “Tim’s gone AWOL—you need to do merch for Sandusky Rose’s set.”

Frank frowned. “Where’d he go?”

“I don’t fucking know!” John threw his hands in the air. “I think he’s with that Blogger chick—you know, the flirty one with the big tits who was hanging around backstage before the show?” Frank cursed under his breath. “It’s either merch or help me and Shaun load the van?” Frank shook his head, still frowning. John narrowed his eyes and gave Gerard a hard look. “Who’re you? Do I know you?”

“Uh, yeah. Mikey Way’s brother? From the party last night?”

John’s cheeks went red and he huffed out, “Fucking great.” He spun around and then disappeared into the crowd without another word.

Frank laughed. “He was so stoned last night—I bet he was a real idiot!”

Gerard shrugged. He didn’t want to tell Frank the truth, that he thought his bassist was sexist and rude. 

“Okay. Well, shit.” Frank chewed on his lip ring and gave Gerard a hopeful look. “You wanna hang out with me at the merch table?” 

The booth was near the entrance to the venue, isolated from the crowded bar. A woman slouched behind the table, half-shaved head propped up in her hand. From the unshaved side, a sheet of glossy black hair spilled onto the tabletop, obscuring some of the merch. She didn’t seem to care. When she spotted Frank, her heavy-lidded boredom snapped into a wicked smile. She waved an arm clad in tattoos instead of a shirt-sleeve. “Frank! Are you my relief?” She had a slight accent, but Gerard couldn’t place it.

Frank introduced them. Jeri, the punk beauty, was the guitarist for Sandusky Rose. She gave Gerard a compulsory ‘hi’ and then passed Frank a cashbox. She leaned against the table, clicking her tongue ring against her teeth as she complained about some dweeb in a polo shirt hitting on her. She winked at Frank and said, “Tell Hambone he owes you a mickey.” When they bumped fists, Gerard distracted himself by picking at the cuff of his jacket. Was Frank into that? Heavy make-up and enough metal in her head to melt down into a paperweight?

She kissed two fingers and pressed them to Frank’s cheek before she walked away, swinging her tiny ass in her tight denim shorts. Even her legs were tattooed, colours and shapes peeking through torn fishnet stockings.

“I can’t tell if you’re ogling her ass or her outfit.” 

Stunned he’d been caught staring, Gerard shut his mouth so he didn’t say anything stupid. Frank settled in one of the hard, wooden chairs behind the table and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “You can go catch their set if you want. They’re pretty good. Not as good as us, but worth a watch.”

Gerard pointedly pulled out a chair and replied, "I'm good."

Frank smiled at the table, busying himself with straightening out the CDs and buttons as Gerard studied his profile. The fluorescents were harsh and bright, emphasizing the sallowness of his skin. His eyes were glossy and tired and his dark hair was plastered to his face in long, pointy, swoops. Despite all that, he was still fucking gorgeous. He toyed with his lip ring, bestowing Gerard with another winning smile. 

Gerard ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. The back of his neck was damp and he hoped he smelled okay. He fought the urge to pick at his nails and couldn't decide what to do with his hands. He clasped them together in his lap and smiled back at Frank.

Thankfully, their awkward glances were short-lived. A couple of guys in sweat-stained t-shirts and designer jeans came over to buy CDs. One of them wanted a Sandusky Rose t-shirt—for his girlfriend, he said. After that, there was a steady stream of fans fawning over Frank as he signed their EPs and Gerard collected money. Girls giggled nervously, guys praised his guitar skills, and Frank charmed them all.

The customers dwindled. A thick silence settled over them. Gerard wanted to stick something in his mouth: the straw from his half-finished drink, a cigarette, his fingernails. Instead, he asked Frank about Ray.

As it turned out, Frank had grown up on the same side of town as Gerard but he was a couple of years younger. He’d attended a Catholic school in Arlington, so it wasn't a surprise they had never met. He knew Ray through their girlfriends. He told a story about Ray getting them kicked out of a movie theatre and didn't mention the girlfriend again. 

He wanted to ask Frank if he liked guys but he was a chickenshit. Normally, he didn’t have to ask. That’s why he went to gay bars in the first place. A man flirts and maybe buys you a drink—sex is always on the table. The outside world was a total crapshoot. Get the wrong end of the stick and you're liable to get punched in the face. Or worse. 

And then there’s Frank.

Sure, he’d pursued Gerard and flirted with him, but what did that mean? Some people were flirty by nature and the way Frank reeled in his fans, talking to them like they were special, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume he was merely a friendly guy. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Gerard would be lucky to have him as a friend. But he needed to know, either way. It would do him no good to fixate on a straight guy or someone who wasn’t interested. Neither his mind nor his dick could handle the unknown.

Since people were loitering in the lobby, their conversation stayed light. They talked about their families—Frank’s parents had split when he was young and he still lived with his mom. Gerard confessed that his bedroom was in his parents’ basement. 

Frank perked up when Gerard asked about his tattoos; he vibrated in his chair, pushing up his sleeves to show off his skin. Animated, Frank twisted his arms this way and that, pointing out bits of ink and going into great detail about each one. A lopsided grin pulled up the side of Gerard’s face as Frank leaned into his space, close enough to feel intimate.

They were interrupted by a man with a nose ring and a blue Mohawk. His face was angular and beautiful in an odd sort of way. Gerard got the itch to sketch his face.

“Sick ink, dude.” Mohawk guy leaned over the table, encroaching on their space.

Frank thanked him and pushed his sleeves back down as Mohawk guy raved about the band. He showered him with compliments and asked about their upcoming tour. Blatantly flirting. He was good at it, though. Charming without coming off like a creep. 

Frank accepted the advances with glee and Gerard couldn’t tell if he was into it or being polite because Mohawk guy wanted to buy a few copies of Pencey’s EP. Frank dug the last three copies out of the stash under the table and handed two over to Mohawk guy.

Frank waved the other copy in the air. "Sorry, this one's spoken for.”

"Too bad." Mohawk guy handed Gerard a couple of bills and winked at Frank. "Raincheck, then?"

"We'll have more copies for sale at our next gig." Frank handed him a flyer and told him to enjoy the rest of the show. Mohawk guy nodded and after he left, Frank handed the lone EP over to Gerard.

“What?” Gerard said in surprise.

“What?” Frank parroted back. “We’ve got more copies in the van.”

“But you could have sold it for money.”

"Dude needs to dial it down. He was flirting. Hard."

"He was cute, though." Gerard held his breath and picked at a splinter in the table as he waited for Frank's reaction.

“You thought he was cute?”

Shifting in his seat, Gerard tilted his head. “I want to sit him down for a couple of hours and sketch his face. It’s all…” Gerard gestured at his own face. “You know?” 

“No, I don’t know.” Frank laughed. “That’s kind of weird. Not weird that you find him attractive, the creepy staring at his face thing,” he corrected. “It’s cool that you’re into dudes if that’s what you meant.”

“I’m into dudes,” Gerard confirmed, cheeks heating up. “And I like to draw.”

“You could still catch him,” Frank teased. “I’m sure he’d say yes if you asked.”

Gerard smirked. “I’m sure he’d say yes if you asked.”

Frank shrugged. “He's attractive, but he’s still not getting your copy of Forever.”

A little flustered, Gerard caught himself chewing on a thumbnail. He quickly stopped, opting to dig the cherry stems from his empty glass. Frank had Mohawk guy beat in the looks department, but he wasn’t going to tell him that. Instead, Gerard stuck a cherry stem into his mouth. It took him a few seconds to tie it into a neat little knot with his tongue. He placed it on the table and proceeded to do another one.

Frank watched him, eyes growing larger and his mouth hanging open like when he’d been on stage. With an air of smugness, Gerard produced another one. 

“Seriously, dude? That’s like the worst pick-up trick ever.”

“Can you do it?”

Frank shook his head and bit his lip ring into his mouth. He offered Gerard his glass and raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Gerard bit back a grin. He fished out the stems, stuck them both in his mouth and spent a bit longer tying those. Showing off, he stuck out his tongue and presented Frank with the side-by-side knots, before lining them up beside the others.

“I taught myself how to do it to piss Mikey off.” Gerard grinned at the memory. “My fingers were stained red all summer but by the end of it, I could do one in less than five seconds.”

“Wasn’t that also the summer you discovered Britpop and went around calling everyone a ‘cunt’ because you wanted to be Jarvis Cocker?” Gerard snapped his head up and Mikey looked down at him triumphantly. A girl was with him, dangling off his arm like a chimpanzee. “Didn’t mom wash your mouth out with soap?”

“That was Grams. I called her mailman a cunt when he threw a package at the neighbour’s dog.”

The girl leaned into Mikey, talking too loudly to be sober. “That’s horrible. Dogs are a man’s best friend,” she slurred. “I love animals. Rats are the best.” She propped her elbows up on the table and swung her head back and forth between Frank and Gerard. “Who’s the brother?” Gerard drew back, wrinkling his nose at the waft of hops that came out when she spoke. “Well? Which issit?”

Simultaneously, Gerard and Frank jerked a thumb at the other. She put on a pout, pointing first at Gerard and then at Frank. “Okay, well. I’m taking Mickey home to meet my rats. He’s a mouse, so they should get along.”

Gerard mouthed 'Mickey' back at Mikey who shrugged and gave himself mouse ears with his hands, wiggling them around behind the girl’s back. Gerard snorted. Sometimes he worried about his brother’s ability to pick up suitable women. 

“C’mon, Minnie. Time to get you back to Disney Castle.” Mikey gently pulled her upright. She giggled and shouted, "My name's not Minnie, you silly mouse!"

More people gathered around Mikey, as people were wont to do. He said he was going to a party nearby and Gerard very purposefully told him to have a good night. He left with a bunch of people Gerard didn't know. Mikey was on his way to a party with a new girl in tow and Gerard couldn’t figure out whether or not he was on a date.

The air grew warm and noisy as the lobby filled with people desperate to exit the building. They were shouting and shoving into one another in their haste to get outside. Gerard scanned the room for an escape route—he wanted a smoke.

Frank packed up the unsold merch. “I’ve gotta take this stuff to the van, but then I’m free to do whatever… if you want?” Gerard did want. He nodded with so much enthusiasm that Frank chuckled and bumped their shoulder together.

Gerard followed Frank back through the club and into a small, dingy room behind the stage area. Two of Frank’s bandmates sat on a musty old sofa and one stood nearby. They were all bickering. When they spotted Frank, the room got quiet. The guys looked back and forth with varying degrees of acrobatic frowning on their faces.

Frank set the cashbox down with a clunk. “What’s going on?” There were multiple glances around the room and they yammered over each other in defence—“Nothing.”—“Just tell him!”—“Don’t worry.”—“It’s not my fault.”

“We can’t find your guitar,” the other guitarist said and then looked horrified like he hadn’t meant to say anything. He backed into a wall and quickly drank from his beer, gaze downcast. From the couch, John said, “We didn’t lose it—it’s just misplaced.”

“You what?” Frank was across the room in a flash, fisting his hands in John’s t-shirt as he struggled to keep his beer from spilling. “What do you mean, you can’t find my guitar?” He tried to squirm away and Frank pulled harder, stretching the fabric and pushing their faces together. “What the heck, Hambone? You lost my guitar and you’re sitting around getting shitfaced?”

“Frank, chill.” The keyboardist grabbed Frank’s shoulders, pulling him away. “Tim thinks it ended up with Sandusky Rose by accident. It’ll turn up.” Frank spun around. “It’ll turn up? It’ll turn up?!” Frank threw his hands in the air. “We have a show tomorrow!”

“You have other guitars”—

“Other guitars?” Frank’s voice faltered and he staggering out of his grip. "Other guitars?" he repeated. With a huff, he folded himself into a cross-legged position on the filthy floor and dug out his cigarettes. 

"Frank, you can't smoke in here."

With a hard look, Frank lit up a cigarette, glaring at each of his bandmates in-between puffs.

Gerard stood there awkwardly. He wondered if it would be bad manners to light one up himself.

The other guys started arguing again. Gerard worked out that Frank’s guitar was the only thing missing—his amp and the rest of their equipment was packed and accounted for. And at the moment, Tim was banging that Blogger chick in the back of their van, still parked in the alley behind the club.

“Did you ask the other bands if it got mixed up with their gear?”

The noise stopped and all eyes were on Gerard.

“Sandusky Rose were the only ones left,” the keyboardist said.

“Well, did you ask them?” Gerard said.

“They don’t have phones,” John snapped. “And they’re playing at some house party tonight.”

“What party?” Gerard asked. “Where?”

“Who are you again?” The keyboardist side-eyed Gerard.

“Veronica-fucking-Mars!” John and the other guitarist snickered, clinking their beers together.

Frank jerked his head up. “Veronica Mars is awesome.” He nodded his head at Gerard. “This is Gerard. He’s a friend, unlike you degenerates.” They chortled at Frank’s expense and the other guitarist said, “Ooh, big word, little man!”

Frank gave him the finger. He peered up at Gerard and took a long pull from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a slow stream. “Do you have a plan?”

“Yeah.” Gerard searched the room for paper and a pen. He settled for the back of a setlist and a Sharpie. “Now, who saw the guitar last?” Someone snorted behind Frank, but he ignored them and Gerard saw beginnings of a smile. Marker in hand, Gerard sank to the floor beside Frank and got down to business.


	4. Joyriders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this chapter: Underaged drinking

Frank was in love. 

He had confessed to Gerard in a low, heartfelt voice. With eyes wide and earnest, he said, “I’m not playing without her. If I don’t get Pansy back, I’m cancelling the tour.”

“Stop being a drama queen!” John rattled from across the room.

“You named your guitar Pansy?” Gerard bit his lip in an attempt not to smile. “Do you have a picture? It would help if we had something to show people.”

Both John and Neil cracked up and Frank scowled. “No.”

“Of course, he does,” Shaun said. “He carries it in his wallet.”

Frank gave Shaun the evil eye and whipped out his wallet. Within seconds, Gerard had in his hand a photo booth picture of Frank cradling a white guitar. His face broke into a wide smile.

Interrogating Frank’s bandmates went nowhere. At least Frank had finally introduced them all and John had stopped calling Gerard ‘Veronica’. But they knew dick all. Gerard’s hand ached from scribbling useless information. They were more interested in their endless supply of Grolsch beer and Gerard needed the fuck out of there ASAP.

Somehow Frank got the message with a look from Gerard and they made their way outside. The band’s white-so-dirty-it-was-grey van was parked in the alley. Frank marched up to the rear bumper and rapped twice on the back window. He flashed Gerard a mad look before heaving the doors open. A girl screamed as two silhouettes scrambled around inside. 

“Tim, put your pants on and get out here.” Frank crossed his arms. There was a bit of noise followed by cursing. A sleepy-eyed guy with a goatee and his t-shirt on backwards stumbled out the back of the van. “What’s up, Frank?” He squinted at Gerard. “Who’re you?”

“None of your business,” Frank snapped. “Get your hook-up outta the van.” 

Tim hesitated and then said, “Why?”

“Pansy’s missing. I want to see if she's in there.” Frank tried to shoulder past Tim. “C’mon, man, move.” Tim held him back. “It’s not in there, Frank.” 

Frank grunted as he struggled to break free. “Forgive me if I think you’re full of shit. I want to check for myself.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn up.” Tim and Frank wrestled against the back of the van like a couple of kids at a playground, neither aiming to cause serious injury.

“It’s not in there.” A girl wrapped up like a burrito in a large plaid blanket peered through the open door. “He gave it to that Jeri chick from the other band.”

Frank froze. “What did you say?”—“Anita!” Tim cried, letting go of Frank.

“He was gonna find out anyway.” Anita fluttered her lashes, giving Frank a not-so-subtle once over.

“Find out what?”

“She borrowed it.” Tim backed into the bumper of the van. “Just for the night.” 

“WHAT?” Frank’s eyes got wider.

“She promised to have it back in the morning before we leave.” Tim rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around helplessly. “She said, you said, it's all cool.”

Frank pulled his fists back and clenched them like he was going to punch Tim. “It’s not all cool. She never asked me and I certainly never gave her permission to borrow my frigging guitar!”

“Well, shit… She was really convincing.”

“Tim. Give him the money Jeri gave you,” Anita chimed in, kicking a naked foot at Tim's shoulder. “Then maybe he’ll leave.”

“She paid you and then accidentally took my guitar?” Frank punched Tim in the arm, hard enough to hurt but not enough to leave a mark. Tim sulked and rubbed his arm. He pulled a fistful of cash out of his pocket and passed it to Frank. There were a lot of bills but Frank didn’t count them before he stuffed them in the pocket of his hoody. “You’re a dumbass.” Frank’s eyebrows knit together. “If anything happens to Pansy, I’m gonna burn your drum kit.”

“Harsh, dude.” Tim looked at the ground, buckling under Frank’s glare. 

“So!” Gerard clapped his hands together. “Where’s this party?”

Sandusky Rose were less than half an hour away in Hackensack. Tim didn’t know the exact location but he gave them the name of a guy at a pizza place who would know the address. He guaranteed it.

Frank and Gerard strolled out of the alley side by side under the cover of night. The silence made Gerard twitchy, so he lit up a cigarette. Frank followed suit and they walked to Gerard’s car, leaving a plume of smoke in their wake. On the street, people loitered in clusters, talking, smoking and goofing around like they had nowhere better to be. Costumed people stumbled out of the club and tumbled into cabs. Gerard couldn’t wait to reach the solitude of his car.

Frank counted the cash he’d pocketed from Tim. “Two hundred bucks." Frank nudged Gerard with an elbow. “After we find Pansy, we're going for breakfast.”

Gerard blew a stream of smoke from the side of his mouth. “Breakfast, huh?” 

“Yep,” Frank said firmly. “You like waffles?” Gerard nodded as Frank freed his wallet from his back pocket and shoved the money inside. "I know a 24-hour joint that makes the best waffles.” 

An easy silence settled between them when they hit the road. Frank stared out the window at the city lights as Gerard drove east towards Hackensack.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard caught Frank glancing at him and then down at his lap. There were gaping holes in the knees of his jeans, frayed circles framing his kneecaps. He played with the loose strings for a few moments before he said, “Why’d you leave last night? I did come back, you know.”

Gerard sighed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I was overwhelmed, I guess.”

Frank’s head snapped up. “By me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no.” Gerard shook his head. “Just, like, the whole situation.” He ran a hand through his hair a few times and then glanced at Frank. “It was embarrassing—getting pushed around like? I'm sick of being scared. I know I don’t handle stressful situations very well.”

Frank’s hand stilled on his knee, his eyes emphatically wide. “Nah, you’re tough,” he said. “If a bunch of guys cornered me like that, I’d be on the floor in a ball, screaming for my life.”

Gerard chuckled. “I doubt that.”

“Hey, I still look over my shoulder, waiting to get my ass kicked for wearing nail polish or writing songs about my feelings. When I was a kid, I used to give my lunch money to this one bully before he even asked. Because I knew that if he had to ask, I was also gonna get my hair washed in a toilet bowl.”

“You’re older now. No one’s gonna stick your head in the toilet.”

“I may be older, but I’m not much taller.” Frank paused in thought. “I still give that one guy my lunch money, only now he works at Subway. I give him a hard time with my toppings and insist he cut my sandwich into triangles. He frigging hates me but he can’t say anything because I’m a customer.” Frank cackled at his ingenuity.

“That’s amazing.” Gerard smiled at the thought. “And sad.”

“Oh!” Frank perked up. “There’s this other guy who used to stuff me in my locker. I had detention for missing class so many times because of that asswipe. Once I waited so long for someone to let me out that I peed my pants and had to wear gym shorts for the rest of the day. Anyway, I spotted him at a Pencey gig, right in the mosh pit. He was singing along and I got so angry. I pointed him out and told them about how he used to bully me. Like the red sea, they parted—no one would stand within an arm’s reach of him. They booed until he got embarrassed and left, and you know what? I didn’t feel bad about it at all.”

By the time they pulled into the parking lot of Ralph’s Pizza, Gerard was laughing at Frank’s stories and had forgotten all about feeling embarrassed.

Their contact, Dominic, was a skinny teenager who’d grown the hint of a moustache on his lip to appear older. His acne and cracking voice gave him away. When he explained that his younger sister knew the guy who bought the kegs for the party, Gerard broke out in a sweat.

“How old are you?” Gerard asked. 

Dominic’s expression soured. “Old enough to smack you ‘round, bitch.”

Gerard put his hands up in surrender and Frank gently elbowed Gerard out of the way. “What he meant to ask is, where is this party?”

“I don’t know if I wanna tell you now.” Dominic crossed his arms. “Sounds like you’re gonna cause shit for Gemma.”

Gerard frowned. “Isn’t your sister a bit young to be dating a man old enough to buy alcohol?”

“He’s got a fake ID, genius,” Dominic said.

“That’s not any better!” Gerard exclaimed.

“Okay, okay.” Frank put a hand on Gerard's arm and looked at Dominic. “Dude, I promise we won’t bother your sister. I need to find someone who’s at the party.”

“Who?” Dominic asked.

“Jeri Palmer,” Frank answered.

“She go to Lyndhurst High?” 

Gerard let out an undignified squawk and Frank made big eyes at him until he quieted. “No, she’s in a band. She stole my guitar.”

“No shit?” Dominic gaped at Frank. “You’re in a band?” When Frank nodded in reply, Dominic’s face lit up and he started nodding his head emphatically. “Cool man, cool.”

With all the charisma of a car salesman, Frank leaned on the counter, promising to put Dominic on the guestlist for Pencey’s next show if he would give up the party location. 

Ten minutes later, Frank and Gerard left in triumph with a hand-drawn map to the party and two veggie slices, on the house.

They were back in the car chowing down when Gerard side-eyed Frank. “I thought you couldn’t eat cheese.” Frank considered the slice in his hand and then shrugged. “I’m not gonna pass up free pizza. I’m sure I’ll pay for it later.” He grimaced and then took a big bite.

As they drove down Forest Street for the seventh time, Gerard did a double-take at the map clutched in Frank’s hand. “Frank.” Gerard twirled a finger in the air. “You’ve got it upside down!”

“Huh?” Frank asked, tilting his head this way and that and frowning at the map. Gerard plucked the map from Frank's fingers, handing it back to him right side up. “Ohhhhhhh,” Frank said. “That makes more sense. It doesn’t help that they’re all named after trees.” He squinted into the dark abyss of night and pointed at a street sign. “There!” he said gleefully. “Elm Street.”

“How foreboding,” Gerard murmured.

There were, in fact, several kids dressed up like Freddy Kreuger at the party. And by kids, he meant teenagers. Teenagers who had procured a keg. Gerard watched in horror as a boy who couldn’t be older than fifteen sprayed beer into Solo cups, handing them out indiscriminately. The house was brimming with minors and he said a silent prayer that he and Frank wouldn’t get arrested. 

“I really shouldn’t be here.” Gerard urged Frank forward, hoping to get in and out without garnering attention.

Not five steps through the door, Gerard heard someone shrieking his name. “Gerard! Hey! Over here!” 

Before he could pinpoint the direction of the voice, a girl collided with him, nearly dumping her cup of unmentionable liquid all over his leather jacket. She gave him some space, shaking with excitement. “What are you doing here? Ohmigod! This is so cool!” 

She was dressed like a 1970’s hippie with peace signs dangling from her ears and flowers woven into her long braids. Gerard barely recognized her.

“Tabitha—hey,” Gerard said finally. Over her shoulder, Frank raised his eyebrows in question.

“Are you drinking?” He motioned at the cup in her hand.

She hid the cup behind her back but had the sense to look guilty. “I’ll just, uh…” She flapped her other hand and looked around for a spot to stash her drink.

“You go dump that out,” Gerard suggested. “And I'll pretend I didn't see it.”

“Right. Yes, sir.” Tabitha gave him a firm nod and dashed off.

“Sir?” Frank sounded amused. ”Friend of yours?" 

“It’s not what you’re thinking. I teach high school. Tabitha’s one of my students.”

“Cool.” Frank thought about it and then narrowed his eyes. “Seriously though? I thought you did art?”

“I do.” Gerard waved a hand in the direction Tabitha had left. “And I’m a teacher at AHS. Art and drama.”

“Hmm.” Frank looked Gerard up and down. “I never would have guessed.”

Gerard frowned and pulled his jacket tighter to his body. He interrupted Frank’s wandering eyes with, “What?” 

“Nothing.” A sly grin tugged at his mouth. He batted his eyelashes at Gerard. “Mr. Way.” Gerard tried to act cool but found himself blushing. “If I had had a teacher like you in school, I never would have graduated.” Frank tilted his head. “Or maybe I would have graduated faster so I could have”—

“This is so cool.” Tabitha beamed as she burst into their bubble, braids swinging to and fro. “You have to say hi to everyone else.” She looked hopeful as she nodded her head towards another room.

“We’re here to find someone,” Gerard said. “Was there a band playing earlier? Sandusky Rose?”

“Oh yeah, they were amazing!” Tabitha clapped her hands together.

“Did one of them have a white Epiphone Les Paul with the name 'PANSY' on it?” Frank sounded desperate. It marked the return of his nervous tick of chewing on his lip ring.

“Uh, I dunno,” Tabitha replied. “A what?”

“A white guitar,” Gerard said. “Did one of them have a white guitar?” 

“Yeah, yes.” Tabitha considered this. “Definitely, yeah. She was hot too.”

"Yeah, she's a beauty," Frank's face lit up. Gerard nudged him with an elbow. "I think she meant Jeri."

“Oh.” Frank’s face fell. “Are they still here?” 

“I saw one of them sucking face with some dude with a mullet.” Tabitha wrinkled her nose in disgust. “If you wanna talk to my friends, they’ll know where they went.”

To Tabitha’s delight, Gerard and Frank followed her into another room where a group of girls were desperately trying to look bored. When she introduced Gerard, he could see them struggling to keep from smiling. A girl dressed as Sailor Moon in braces broke first. She thrust out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Gladys!” she exclaimed. “Are you like, Mr. Way, from like, the Art club?” She gave Gerard the biggest fake wink imaginable.

Frank raised an eyebrow.

“It’s nothing creepy, I swear,” Gerard said to Frank.

“It’s a secret club,” Gladys explained. “The Art Club is a front.” 

“Yeah,” another girl in flannel said. “It’s for gay kids to get together and talk about gay stuff.”

“And sex,” Gladys added. “Like gay sex and stuff.”

“Wow, thanks, Gladys,” Gerard muttered. “So, not helping.” 

The girls clustered around Frank. If his eyebrows climbed any higher they’d merge with his hairline. Gerard separated him from the pack, steering Frank away by his shoulders. “I run an after school Gay-Straight Alliance group. Some of the students call it Art Club for privacy reasons. Not creepy, right?”

Frank chuckled. "Rad."

A girl swimming in overalls and red plaid sighed. “It’s so stupid. We tried to start a group at my school but Principal Flannigan shut us down. And he’s like, totally, secretly gay.” She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Like the whole school doesn’t know. Everyone calls him Flaming Flannigan.”

“I saw Angie in the hall talking to Denise’s cousin,” Tabitha said. “She’s friends with Esther, the girl who brought Danny to the party, even though he’s like, creepy old to be here. Oh, not like super-old, but like, your age, Mr. Way,” Tabitha clarified. Frank snickered and Gerard considered leaving him there. “His friend was the one making out with the girl from the band. They're in the upstairs bathroom.”

“Uh, I didn’t follow any of that.” Frank gave Gerard a helpless look. Gerard didn’t either, so he shooed Frank to chase after Tabitha. 

Gerard turned back to the remaining girls with a furrowed brow. ‘God grant me strength’, he muttered to himself before switching into teacher mode. The girls received a stern talking to about labels and respecting people’s privacy.

“Was the short guy your boyfriend?” Overalls girl asked. “He was giving me the stink eye.”

“Chloe!” Gladys cried, at the same time as Gerard sighed and said, “What did we just talk about?” 

Chloe scoffed. “I only asked a question! Geez, I’m starting to feel like I’m at school or something.”

“I am a teacher,” Gerard said pointedly. “That was a personal question. And you’re making assumptions about my sexuality, and his.”

“Tabby said you answer everyone's questions at Art Club,” Chloe said accusingly. “Like, she said you told them all about oral sex and where to get free condoms.” The other two girls went beet red.

“You should come to Art Club sometime. Then you can ask all the questions you like,” he said coolly.

“I’m not gay.” Chloe crossed her arms in a huff.

“The group is for everyone, gay, straight, or whatever—that’s the whole point,” Gerard enthused. “Tabby’s your friend, right?” She nodded. “Then you should support her. All of you should.” He glanced at Gladys and the third girl who was either mute or exceedingly polite. “There are straight kids there, y’know. Heck, sometimes we even do art.”

“I hate art,” Chloe muttered. “I suck at it.” Gerard looked to the heavens, clinging to his sanity.

When Frank and Tabitha returned, Gerard nearly hugged them both. Sadly, Pansy was nowhere in sight. 

“I found Sara and she said Pansy’s in the van with the rest of their gear. But the van’s not here—Eleanor drove it to her aunts B&B.” Frank looked at Gerard, defeated. “In frigging Pennsylvania.”

“Oh.” Gerard’s face fell to match Frank’s. “I’m sorry, Frank.”

“It’s fine,” Frank said tightly. “She’s in Milford. We’re heading that direction tomorrow morning anyway. It’s kind of on the way.”

“Well, isn’t that tragic?” Chloe said flatly. 

Gerard gritted his teeth. She was a teenager. And teenagers needed patience and understanding. “Where’s Milford?” Gerard looked around the group.

“No way. Don’t even worry about it,” Frank protested, as Gladys piped in with, “Not that far. My dad dragged me there to see this famous French château. The house was old and cool, but the tour guide was so stuffy. I literally died from boredom.”

Gerard ignored her misuse of the English language and instead asked, “How far is it?”

“An hour and a half, max. It’s barely in Pennsylvania,” Gladys replied.

Gerard grinned and Frank shook his head like a mad dog. “An hour and a half, max, Frank.” Gerard parroted. They had a silent battle with their eyes, trying to sway the other with the intensity of their gaze. “It’s _barely_ in Pennsylvania.”

“No. You’ve done enough.”

Gerard showed all his teeth and nodded.

Frank sighed, resigned. “I think I love you, man.” Gerard laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's raining and gloomy outside so I thought I'd throw a little sunshine out into the world. Or just some awkward Gerard, lolz. I do apologize to the Pencey Prep boys for making them sound like a bunch of goons. I'm sure they're all lovely people. I should also point out that I'm not from the US and the only time I've been to New Jersey was to see New Kids on the Block (don't judge me) in Camden like ten years ago. My research is purely Google-based, so if I mischaracterize any locales or Americans in general feel free to call me out. Comments of any sort are much appreciated. I'm always looking to improve my writing. Thanks for reading! :)


	5. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this chapter: Emetophobia/Fear of vomit, vomiting (not graphic).

Gerard rarely strayed far from home and the safety of urban sprawl. And yet, there he was, in a rabid search for his road atlas because he had volunteered to drive some guy he barely knew to frigging Pennsylvania. He was desperate for something: a date, a new friend? Simply to get to know Frank better? What the fuck? Clearly, he’d lost his mind.

Smoke in hand, Frank peered over Gerard’s shoulder into the trunk of the car, a dumping ground for miscellaneous crap. A spare tire—useless because it was flat, loose cans of Diet Coke, a box of store-brand kitty litter, a wool blanket that smelled like wet dog… Gerard shoved an old high school t-shirt aside, pushed over a stack of battered Vogue magazines, and behold! His trusty road atlas.

When they were settled in the car, Gerard flipped through the map book until he found Milford. He had a moment of panic when he found two towns called Milford on either sides of the state border, not anywhere near each other. But according to the maps, the scribbled directions to the B&B placed it in the Milford in Pennsylvania, not New Jersey. He went back a few pages and pointed out their current location in Lyndhurst to Frank.

“It’s easy,” Gerard said. “We’re gonna take the highway all the way up.” He traced the route with his finger over several pages.

“Have I not already proven I don’t know my head from my ass when it comes to directions?” 

“Sure, but I’m a firm believer in second chances.” With a grin, he handed the book to Frank. “And I think I’ve got the route memorized, just in case.”

Frank accepted it with a grim look. “I always get turned around in malls. Once I got lost walking to school—I took what I thought was a shortcut and somehow ended up on the other side of the turnpike.”

“Oh, shit. How old were you?” Gerard tucked a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and started the engine. He steered them onto the road with one hand and flicked his lighter with the other.

“Fourteen. Eventually, I found a payphone and had to call my mom to come and get me. She was so mad she grounded me for a month and I had to go to confession twice a week.”

Gerard snorted and then apologized, gesturing with his cigarette. “How many sins could you possibly commit if you were grounded?”

“In the privacy of my bedroom?” Frank snorted. “Plenty.”

They passed the stark trees lining Forest Street and followed the road along the river until they looped around to join Route 3. Frank waited until Gerard had merged into traffic before he said, “So, Tabitha’s cool but her friend Chloe is a piece of work.”

Gerard burst out laughing so hard he nearly lost his cigarette. “Teenagers can be trying sometimes.”

“Trying? You’re being too kind—she’s a total bitch.” Frank shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re a teacher. I never would have guessed.”

“It’s new. This is my first year at the school but it’s been great so far,” Gerard said. “I came in to teach art and drama and within a month had the GSA up and running. That was mostly the kids, though.”

“But dealing with all those hormones and aggression and shit?”

“I guess that’s why I do it. I want to help them divert their energy into something positive. I’m supposed to be like, inspirational—help them talk to their parents, encourage them to apply to college—but I mostly talk about what they shouldn’t tell their parents and give them dating advice. Not many schools in the area have a GSA. Where else are they supposed to go? They have stuff they can’t talk to their parents about. I want to be for them the kind of person I needed when I was in high school, y’know? Answer all their dumb questions. Let them know they’re not alone and yeah, high school fucking sucks, but it’s not forever.”

“How’d you get so wise?” Frank asked.

“A shit ton of therapy,” Gerard said wryly. 

Frank chucked. “I remember being so stoked to start high school. I imagined there’d be tons of cool, older people to hang out with when in reality, there were just more dickheads who got off picking on weird little shits like me.”

Gerard snorted out of sympathy. “All teenagers think they’re weird.”

“I was extra special, man. In like, seventh grade, I found these Dwayne-Wayne-style, flip-up prescription sunglasses. I begged my mom for ages and she made me do extra chores to earn them. I thought they were the shit. But by the time I started high school I was completely over them and realized how dumb I looked. Then I broke my regular pair and my mom refused to get me new ones so I had to wear the flip-ups to class. I got destroyed. Kids would turn around in class and make faces at me. They’d flick them up and down and call me names. I was so short that when I bumped into girls my face would end up in their boobs. Sounds like a dream come true but they hated me for it. One day, this girl got so mad she smacked me in the face and they broke. I was so happy I didn’t even care that she gave me a black eye.”

“You still wear glasses?”

“On occasion. After that, I convinced my mom to let me get contact lenses.”

“Eww, I can’t.” Gerard made a face. “How can you touch your eyeballs like that?”

“It was better than getting bullied about my stupid glasses.”

“Kids left you alone because you got contacts?”

“Well, that and I made friends with a junior who was taller than me and wore combat boots. She had the whole Tank Girl thing going on—smoked cigarettes, didn’t take shit from anybody. She got suspended in middle school for telling the principal to go fuck himself. One day, some jock stuffed me in my locker and she came to my rescue. Literally grabbed him by the nuts and said if he ever messed with me again, she’d rip his balls off with her bare hands, and let me tell you, we both believed her. When I hung out with her at least, the goons left me alone.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“Didn’t last long. She finished a year ahead of me and fled town. I think she moved overseas. And after she left not only was I still short but there a whole new group of assholes to give me a hard time. Uh, can we get off the highway? Anywhere?”

“Sure.” Gerard looked ahead for an exit sign. “You need a bathroom? There must be a town coming up. I could get gas.”

When Frank remained silent, Gerard glanced at him to see if he was okay. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looked off-colour and had one hand clamped over his mouth and the other cradling his stomach. “Do you have a plastic bag or something?” Frank mumbled through his hand. “I’m going to throw up.”

Gerard choked on his next breath. He had to get out of the car or he was going to die. Right, the fuck now. A drone pulsed on his eardrums like he was underwater, Frank's voice garbled and faint through the pounding. Exit signs blurred by. With clammy hands, he clenched the steering wheel and fixated on the faded yellow lines to keep the car on the road. 

Somehow he eased the car onto the shoulder and up a grassy hill. Frank bolted before the car was in park. Gerard scrambled to get out and kneeled on the ground, far away from Frank’s horrible retching in the bushes. 

Once he stopped hyperventilating, he sunk to the ground, fumbling through his pockets. His hands were shaking as he shoved a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. The action had a calming effect and as he blew out he sighed.

One person could only tolerate so much drama and Gerard was a Pandora’s box of mental problems. Frank was a nice guy, but how far would his understanding extend? Things had been going great and now suddenly, they were spiralling out of control. His therapist said his issues were related—the depression, alcoholism, social anxiety, and this one, his crippling fear of vomit. But knowing that did fuck all to help. He really wanted Frank to like him.

“So, hey”—Frank’s Chucks crunched across into the dirt and gravel—“Are you okay?" Gerard smoked to avoid answering. "I’m pretty sure you should be asking me, but whatever. I’m good. I got it all out of my system.” 

Gerard paled and raised his hand. “Please don’t talk about it.” He offered Frank the rest of his cigarette to shut him up. “I know it sounds crazy, but I have a phobia about people, you know.” He waved a hand near his mouth to demonstrate and then scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I get like, panic attacks sometimes. I’m sorry. It’s not usually this bad. I only see my therapist once a week.” Gerard rambled on. “I swear, this was an anomaly.”

“You’re good. It’s cool,” Frank said and then quickly backtracked. “I mean, it’s not cool that it happens, that part clearly sucks. But if you have no control over it, then you have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I’m sorry?” Gerard’s eyebrows knit together.

Frank shook his head with amusement. “You be you, man. No apologies.” He stubbed out the butt under his shoe. “You freaked out. We didn't crash and you seem fine now. You wanna keep driving?”

With a nod, Gerard stood, brushing grass from his jeans. He looked Frank in the eye. “Are you okay now? Like for sure?” Frank nodded. “One hundred percent,” he said confidently. “It’s my own fault for eating that pizza; cheese is my enemy. I should be apologizing to you.”

“You did mention that you get sick a lot.” Gerard was met with a blank stare. “At the party? All your layers?”

“Oh, yeah,” Frank said. “It’s more than that, though. I haven’t had ‘just a cold’ since I started preschool. I catch a cold and it turns into the frigging plague. When I was a kid I ended up in the hospital a couple of times with pneumonia. That sucked. I’ve had mono twice. I don’t get sick as often as I used to but it still happens. And while we’re on the subject, I uh, have herpes,” Frank said casually.

Gerard tried not to laugh in case Frank was being serious. 

Frank continued, waving his hands at his face. “It’s not a big deal, I just get coldsores on my mouth. Y’know, the oral kind. I mean…” Gerard’s face tensed as he bit back a grin watching Frank grow flustered trying to explain. “You know what I mean—not down there. And I’ve never infected anyone. I’m super vigilant. My lips get tingly, so I know when one’s coming on. So, yeah… there’s that.”

“There is that.” Gerard agreed, biting back a smile.

*

Milford was probably a quaint little town by day, but at four o’clock in the morning in the aftermath of trick or treaters, it was creepy as fuck. Smashed pumpkins, candy wrappers and streams of toilet paper littered the streets. A low fog was rolling in and Gerard kept an eye out for signs of the undead.

They pulled into the driveway of a huge old house with a sign staked in the lawn reading ‘Arlene’s B&B’. Frank and Gerard exchanged overcharged grins when they saw the band’s van. Frank was about to be reunited with his beloved Pansy.

But Milford was a bust.

An older woman (presumably Arlene) answered the door who was friendly if not wary about two young men asking for her niece at four o’clock in the morning. Eleanor crept down a creaky old staircase in pyjamas and grumbling about the time. When she saw them standing there, her face fell. Apologies spilled out—Frank’s guitar was at his house back in Belleville. Jeri had wanted to give it back to Frank in person because she had a raging crush him. They stood around staring at each other for a good minute or two while Frank processed the information. When Frank started twitching, Gerard thanked Eleanor and walked him back to the car.

*

They were still a few hours from sunrise but Gerard could feel it in his bones. He stifled a yawn and trained his eyes on the road. The next time there were signs of life off the highway, he would pull over for a coffee. He should have thought about it when they were driving out of Milford but he had been too focused on Frank ranting about the mating rituals of females and the tragic prospect that he’d never see Pansy again.

“I don’t understand,” Frank muttered. “She stole my guitar because she has a crush on me?” Gerard shrugged. People did stupid things to show affection. “Is this the like, shitty equivalent to pulling a girl’s pigtails?”

“She did get your attention?”

“The wrong attention, I’d say.” Frank scowled. “She stole my guitar. After this little stunt, I wouldn’t go out with her if she was the last person on the planet. I’m getting a deadbolt for my guitar case. If Pansy is not at my house, I’m going to lose it.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find her.” Gerard patted absently to his right, aiming for Frank’s arm, but landing on his knee instead. His fingers skimmed bare skin and he immediately pulled back, slapping his hand on the wheel and tapping anxiously.

“The moral of the story, Gerard,” Frank said with a sigh. “Is don’t date punks in bands.”

“Does that come from personal experience or is it a warning?”

“I dated a chick in a band for a while.”

“Was she the one who gave you herpes?”

“No,” Frank said. “That I’ve had it since I was a kid.”

“So, what happened?” Gerard asked. “With the girl, not the herpes.”

Frank smirked. “I got that.” He took a breath and a bunch of expressions crossed his face before he spoke. “She cheated on me and twisted it around like it was my fault.” Frank paused, and then added, “She’s lucky I didn’t give her herpes.”

“So is the person she cheated on you with.” That gave Gerard an idea—“You wanna do a talk for the GSA? That’s my favourite thing in the world—telling kids about STDs with all the gross and gory details. Oh, that and teen pregnancies. I do it when they get all hot and bothered and ask me too many sex questions.” Gerard wrinkled his nose and cackled.

“There’s evil in you,” Frank said. “And there’s no way I’m talking to your students about my herpes.”

The drive back flew by faster than the trip to Milford. It was six am when Frank directed Gerard to his mom’s house in Belleville. He parked in front of a stout, well-maintained bungalow with lacy curtains in the windows and a fanged jack-o’-lantern on the porch. The windows were dark when Frank went inside. Gerard waited in the car, humming and tapping out ‘Don’t Look Back In Anger’ on the steering wheel.

A couple of minutes later, Frank burst out the front door. He had a black guitar case covered in colourful stickers cradled in his arms. He bounded down the path to the car, a look of pure joy on his face. Reunited with his love.

“Dude, I’m so happy I could cry!” Frank slid the case onto the back seat. He popped open the latches and Gerard turned around to see what all the fuss had been about. Sure enough, Pansy, the guitar, sat nestled in the case. Frank had hearts in his eyes. As he closed it, he noticed an envelope inside. He plucked it out, latching the case before joining Gerard in the front.

“Seriously, Gerard, thank you.” He lunged over the gear shift to wrap his arms around Gerard in a hug. The surprise of it caused him to laugh awkwardly as he patted Frank on the back. When they separated, he smiled into his lap, rumpled and warm-hearted.

Frank remembered the envelope in his hand and tore into it with vigour, flipping it open without reading the front. He scoffed at the inscription inside and slapped it shut. Gerard waited as Frank curled his lip and huffed. Then he handed Gerard the card. “It’s from Jeri. Crazy bitch thought a card would make up for stealing Pansy.”

On the cover was a cutesy pumpkin wishing a 'Spook-tacular Boo-day,’ and on the inside, Jeri had scribbled a list of all the dirty things she wanted to do to Frank. “She’s certifiable if she thinks anything is ever going to happen between us,” Frank groused. Gerard passed it back to him. Swiftly, he ripped the card in two and chucked it out the window, the pieces falling to the ground like shitty paper airplanes. 

“Frank,” Gerard complained, “Today’s your birthday? On Halloween?” 

Frank’s angry face vanished and he smiled like he’d just remembered. “Yeah. And if you’re still up for it, I believe I owe you some waffles.”

The Sunday morning diner crowd were mostly retirees and blue-collar workers mainlining coffee. The ones with dark circles under their eyes and the dead stare of people deprived of sleep. A steady murmur of voices carried through the large space, chatty but not enthusiastically so, as the sun had yet to rise. 

Superficially, it wasn’t any different from other diners of its type: 24-hour comfort food served under harsh, flat lighting, with 70’s décor and worn, sticky, vinyl seating. But Frank promised that the waffles were second to none; Gerard was skeptical and not about the quality of the food.

“Are you sure your stomach can handle food right now?” Gerard asked.

“Oh yeah,” Frank said cheerfully. “They make dairy-free waffles here. I promise you, there will be no, uh”—Frank considered his words carefully—“No surprises.”

“Awesome,” Gerard replied. “I fucking hate surprises and I don’t mean that as a metaphor for your side-of-the-road surprise.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” Frank gave him a wink.

The waitress came by with their coffees and after adding a dollop of cream, Gerard drained half of the cup in one go. Frank left his black, and sipped at it slowly, watching Gerard with amusement.

“Are you gonna be able to sleep after coffee?” Frank asked. “Or do you have shit to do today?”

“I take my grandma to church on Sunday mornings,” Gerard said hesitantly. “The car was hers, but the DMV decided her eyesight was too bad to keep driving, so she gave it to me.”

“I get it,” Frank said. “And in return, you have to drive her to church every week.”

“No, I don’t have to—I want to. It’s important to her.” Gerard fiddled with his cutlery. “When I told her that I liked boys, she said, ‘Well, I love God, but I love you more’. Then she found a church that doesn’t discriminate against people.”

“They all discriminate. Some of them just do it better than others.” Frank said bitterly. “Organized religion is a disease, like a virus that brainwashes people into believing shit that under any other circumstances would be considered completely crazy.” 

“I’m an atheist—I don’t believe in God or the bible. But I do believe that people inherently want to be good. And for some, going to church is their way of getting there. I can’t argue with that.”

“It removes their free will,” Frank argued. “They don’t make their own decisions—God and the bible do it for them. They’ll blindly do whatever it is God says, and most of their beliefs are total bullshit. How can you sit there when you know that they think everything you do is bad and wrong and that you’re certain to go to hell for eternity?” 

“Well, my grandma’s church is less with the 'do this or you’ll go to hell' and more with the 'love your fellow man'.” Gerard wiggled his eyebrows and caused Frank to crack a smile. “My grandma likes the community and I’ve gotten used to the ritual aspect. The pastor has a calm voice—I usually zone out. It’s kind of soothing. I usually write lesson plans in my head or plot out my next painting.”

“Sorry, man,” Frank apologized. “I have a personal beef with the Catholic church and I have a hard time looking at it with an open mind.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gerard said. “We all have our beefs.”

“What’s yours?”

Gerard thought about it. “I hate cell phones and computers and email and anything else that exposes me as a failure with technology.” 

Frank’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t have a cell phone either.”

When the waitress arrived, their attention shifted to food—golden waffles with strawberries stacked high and swimming in maple syrup. They ate in comfortable silence and Gerard had to restrain himself from moaning over how good it was. The waffles were delicious as Frank had promised. 

At some point, Gerard had snuck off and talked to the waitress about sticking a couple of candles in Frank’s waffle. Gerard wished him ‘Happy Birthday’ as Frank blew out the candles. Then he watched, transfixed when Frank licked maple syrup off of his hand.

Gerard now suffered that sick feeling of too much sugar and caffeine on too little sleep. He knew the cigarette he wanted would make it worse, but there’s addiction for you. Frank paid the bill with the cash he’d taken from Tim and they walked back to the car. 

Gerard flopped into the driver’s seat, wincing at the morning sunlight blazing through the windshield. It had been a strange night. All that was left to do was drop Frank and his guitar off at Tim’s house and their little adventure would be over. And Gerard still didn’t know what this was. A date? Two friends hanging out? An anomaly? Would sex have been on the table had it not been for Frank’s missing guitar? Gerard’s head hurt. He started the car and took the roads slowly.

Frank yawned. “Man, I miss the days when I could pull an all-nighter with zero repercussions.”

“Do you have to drive today?” Gerard suddenly had visions of Frank conking out behind the wheel and veering off the road.

“Nah, they don’t let me drive. One time they all fell asleep and we ended up in Baltimore when we were supposed to be in Boston.” 

“Oh, Frank!” Gerard exclaimed. “Did you make the show?” Frank shook his head grimly. He motioned at a house up the street and said, “See that white house? That’s Tim’s place. There’s the van.”

Gerard parked on the road and killed the ignition. The ching-ching-ching of his keys rattled through the car. The van was parked in the driveway but there were no signs of life coming from the house. Frank opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it. He chewed on his lip ring as he gazed out the window. Gerard didn’t have the words either.

For lack of anything to say, they ventured out and sat on the hood of the car, smoking the last of Gerard’s cigarettes. Outside, the street was still. Sunlight crept between the houses, casting long shadows that reached out like long pale fingers. The air was crisp, cold enough that Gerard could see his breath and his fingertips tingled. Frank shifted beside him, stubbing his butt out on the side of his shoe and tossing it to the ground. 

Lights flickered on in the house, first upstairs, then downstairs. Frank shivered and pulled his sleeves over his fingers. Gerard finished his cigarette, slid off the hood and crushed the remains out beside Frank’s. He rubbed his hands together quickly and then tucked them into his pockets to keep warm. 

“Thanks for helping me tonight,” Frank said. 

Gerard grinned back as he bounced on his toes. “I had fun.”

“Me too,” Frank said. “Even though I know I’m the worst date ever.” Frank was hunched over, shoulders up to his ears, but there was a brightness in his expression.

“Was this a date?” Gerard said quickly. “This wasn’t a date.”

“If you say so.” Frank launched himself from the bumper, rubber soles slapping at the ground. “So, we’re playing in Scranton today,” Frank said lightly. “But it’s this special Halloween showcase thing, so we’ll be back this evening.”

“Big birthday plans?” Gerard asked.

“Dinner with my mom,” Frank said. “With touring and band stuff, I don’t plan things in advance.” He hesitated before adding, “The rest of my night is free, though.”

“Your friends must have something planned?”

“My friends are all in the band and believe me when I say I see more of them than I’d like.” He shuffled closer to Gerard.

“No Halloween parties?”

“Been there, done that,” Frank said. “It’s my one day to be selfish, so I’d rather be celebrating me, not competing for best costume or bobbing for apples.”

Gerard snorted. “Bobbing for apples, seriously?”

“Gerard,” Frank pleaded. “I’m trying to ask you out.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?” Frank waved his hands around, palms up. “Do you have plans tonight?”

“I usually go to my grandma’s to hand out candy and then afterwards me and Mikey eat what’s leftover and argue about whether to watch ‘The Thing’ or ‘Halloween 3’.”

“Dude, ‘Halloween 3’. ‘The Thing’ is as good as it gets, but it’s actually Halloween!”

Gerard’s eyes got big and his voice shrill as he said, “I know, right? Try telling Mikey that.” A moment passed as they stood grinning at one another. Finally, Gerard bit his lip and asked, “So, you wanna come to my house tonight and watch scary movies?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Frank’s face lit up. “It’s a date.” And Gerard couldn’t help but smile back. 

Frank moved closer. Gerard’s heart pounded and his stomach flip-flopped. This time he was prepared when Frank stepped in for a hug. The cold was forgotten as he held out his arms and let Frank squeeze him until there was no air left in his lungs. When Frank pulled away, the warmth lingered and he didn’t want to let go. Neither did Frank. That might explain why Frank caught him by the collar and tugged him until they were face-to-face. Then he leaned in to kiss him.

But Gerard stopped him before his lips hit their target. He put his hands on Frank's chest and gently pushed him away. Frank’s hands flew up in surrender as he stepped backwards. 

“Shit, sorry,” Gerard stammered, face flushing and his heart jackhammering against his ribcage. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His body tensed and he had to look away. “I um, I like you. I don’t know why I did that.”

“Hey man, it’s cool,” Frank stuck his hands in his pockets and licked his lips.

“Okay,” Gerard muttered. “I’m just gonna go.” He fumbled for his keys and immediately dropped them. They hit the pavement with a resounding chink. Before he could bend over to retrieve them, Frank had scooped them up and was peering up at him, trying to get Gerard’s attention. Reluctantly, Gerard met his gaze, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the trembling.

“I’m sorry if I made things all weird.” Gerard forced himself to look at Frank.

Frank handed Gerard his keys. “Not weird. Can I get your number so I can call you later to make plans?” He started digging in his pockets. “Got a pen?” Frank seemed unfazed by Gerard acting like a weirdo. And he was damn persistent.

A quick rummage through the car produced a black Sharpie from under the driver’s seat. Frank pushed up a sleeve and urged Gerard to write his phone number on Frank’s arm, carefully squished between two tattoos. “No cell phone, but I have my own line at home.” 

“Thanks. Now I won’t lose it,” Frank said. “The band has a pager for gigs and stuff, but I’ll give you the number at my mom’s house.” He motioned with the marker until Gerard rolled up his sleeve and let Frank brand him with his mom’s phone number. “Just in case.” Then Frank grinned and vibrated in place until Gerard loosened up enough to smile back.

Gerard nodded. “Be safe on the road.”

“You too,” Frank added.

When the front door of the house opened, the noise of two loud-talkers dragging equipment cases broke the morning calm. Gerard was relieved. Frank squeezed his shoulder and said good-bye one more time before sprinting towards the van. 

Gerard allowed himself a moment to watch Frank bound up the driveway and tackle Neil, who handled it like a pro and face-planted Frank into the dewy grass. Frank cackled and John hollered at them to be quiet, making Frank laugh harder as he stood up, jeans wet from the ground.

“Struck out, huh?” A voice spoke from behind Gerard and he jerked back, dropping his keys again. 

“Jesus!” Gerard spun around, startled. He narrowed his eyes. “What’d you say?”

“Sorry, dude.” It was the keyboardist, Shaun. “I saw you putting the moves on Frank and I didn’t want to interrupt.” Laughter broke out where the other guys were loading cases into the van and when Gerard looked back towards Shaun, he looked sympathetic. “Frank’s a good guy, but you’re not his type.” 

“I’m sorry—what?”

“You went to Belleville High, right?” Shaun didn’t wait for an answer to continue. “Yeah, my buddy recognized you last night. Said you got beat up so bad that you didn’t finish high school.”

“I finished, I just didn’t go back there,” Gerard snapped. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, man.” Shaun leaned closer. “I wanted to warn you—Frank doesn’t date dudes, and he doesn’t need any drama in his life.” Shaun waved across the street at the guys. “I gotta go.”

Gerard panicked. “Wait!” he called out. “Don’t tell Frank about any of that. Please.” Shaun flapped a dismissive hand in the air as he jogged towards his friends. Gerard stood frozen in place, heart pounding. It took a few minutes to calm down before he could get in the car and drive away.


	6. The Mark of the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: It’s tagged, but again, minor character death and dealing with the aftermath.

After Gerard dropped Frank off at his house, he drove to Newark to pick up his grandmother. The things Shaun had said to him circled his mind like a pack of vultures picking away at his self-esteem. But the harder he pushed the thoughts away, the more rapidly they resurfaced. He was so exhausted he could barely keep up and it left him feeling like total garbage. 

High school had been so traumatic he still didn’t talk about it. Like ever. Like, not even Mikey—especially not Mikey. He had been there and had scars of his own. Maybe it would be better if Frank heard some twisted, watered-down version of what had happened from Shaun and Gerard never saw him again.

After all, according to Shaun, he wasn't Frank's type. Whatever the fuck that meant. A sick feeling settled low in his belly as he considered it. He was awkward and way too emotional. He was reclusive and self-absorbed. He was the epitome of uncool, despite what his brother said. Mikey would think Gerard was cool no matter how fucking fucked up and weird he was.

And Frank… Frank was like, the coolest person Gerard had ever met. Frank’s life was no doubt brimming with beautiful goth girl groupies and sexy guys in skinny jeans, all waiting in the wings at the end of a show. There would be charismatic strangers at every stop in every city, all eager and willing. Frank could have anyone he wanted—Gerard had witnessed it: Jeri, hot Mohawk guy, his adoring fans. Gerard couldn't compete with any of them.

Drama, Shaun had said. More like Gerard was a mental case. And a liar. Guilt pierced his gut; he never told Frank he was an alcoholic. Shaun was right. Frank was normal and balanced. Way too good for Gerard.

He pulled into his grandmother's driveway and sat in the car for a few minutes to get his head together. When he finally went inside, he entered through the side door that led into the kitchen and tried to smile.

“Morning, Grams.” Gerard accepted a kiss on the cheek and a steaming cup of coffee. She gave him a look that said his tired eyes and the stink of stale smoke on his rumpled clothes had not gone unnoticed.

“Rough night?” She patted his cheek, eyes searching.

“Long night.” Gerard sipped his coffee, wincing when it burned his tongue. She added extra cream to his mug and ruffled his hair. “I met this guy, but… I dunno, it might be too soon."

“You must like him if you’re worried about it.” His grandmother smiled knowingly.

"One change at a time—that's what my psychiatrist said. I've only had a real job for two months. I don't know how to be social without drinking and I still live in my parent's basement. I’m not ready for a relationship.”

"Love doesn't operate on a schedule, dear."

Gerard scoffed and rolled his eyes. “My calendar’s full.”

“It never hurts to be open to it.” She tapped the edge of his mug, indicating he should drink up. “Trust yourself, sweetie. Don’t listen to anyone else.”

“Even you, Grams?” Gerard said with a smirk.

“Smart-ass.” She ruffled his hair. “You should always listen to your grandmother.”

*

The church parking lot filled up quickly. His grandma knew everyone. Before he killed the engine, she had hopped out and was already talking to someone. The group grew, cheery faces all around as Gerard followed them inside and hoped no one would notice him or try to chit-chat.

They were devoted in a way Gerard would never understand. He did try. His grandmother said that it didn’t matter what they believed so long as it shaped into them better people. Good people. That they be kind to one another. And while Gerard agreed, he still cringed when they spoke of God like he was a real person who listened to them and puppeteered their lives. He felt like an imposter in their house of sanctity.

God didn’t do shit—people did. Good and bad. No one controlled Gerard’s decisions but himself. He did the work to get himself clean, not God. Besides, he had enough people in his life telling him what to do. He didn’t need God in his life, he needed his family to trust him and the rest of the world to not be judgemental assholes. Period.

The sermon began. Everyone sat pin-straight, listening with a focussed intensity that made him uncomfortable. If he drew lines between their eyes and the minister it would look like a laser beam light show at Flash. Dozens of straight lines all meeting at a single point. Not one astray. All that was missing was the haze and stench of dry ice.

Visualizing laser beams made his head hurt. He was sleep-deprived and his stomach churned as a reminder of how his night had ended. His eyes wandered to the windows behind the pulpit. Stained-glass ran from floor to ceiling and bright sunlight brought the scenes to life. Figures drawn in hard lines and vibrant colours had their arms outstretched and gazes aimed at the heavens. Consumed with devotion.

He thought of the show last night. Bowing before a rock band to bask in the waves of sound. A live show was a spiritual experience, summoning strong emotions and euphoria. He pictured Frank as Jesus, holding Pansy out in front of him in place of a cross, raised above a sea of waving arms. Gerard’s fingers twitched with the urge to draw.

The service ended and people streamed from the pews. There were bible study groups but it wasn’t a secret they were all there to socialize. Gerard left his grandmother inside and snuck out to the parking lot for a smoke. She'd gather with her friends in the basement to drink weak coffee and complain about their aches and pains as they did every Sunday afternoon.

Outside, Gerard slipped his sunglasses on. Several teenagers were hanging out on the lawn. Angry youth with hands shoved in pockets, scowls on their faces and one of them kicking at the dead grass. But Gerard knew better. 

He recognized a student from his freshman art class, so he lit a cigarette and wandered over. He tried not to laugh as a lanky boy with baggy jeans and a good slouch side-eyed him. The girl to his left—dyed black hair and heavy eyeliner—shot her best glare. Seriously, did he look that old? He didn’t feel like an adult.

Gerard puffed on his smoke and greeted the kid from his class. Brent introduced him and like magic, he was no longer a threat. Eyeliner girl had the audacity to ask for a cigarette. Gerard shook his head and her glare returned. The others yammered on about an incident at school, their words spit out in rapid-fire, overlapping each other’s sentences. It was a relief when Brent had a burning question about drawing in two-point perspective.

After church, Gerard helped his grandmother run errands—grocery store, pharmacy, and finally, the library before taking her home. She asked him to stay for lunch and do some painting but he was running on fumes and adrenaline. He needed to crash. He left with the promise that he and Mikey would be back that evening to hand out Halloween candy.

When he got home, he went to his room, shedding his jacket and toeing his shoes off on the way. He face-planted into his pillow and fell asleep. 

It was a good few hours before he woke up. His mattress jiggled like there was an earthquake but it was just his brother. When Gerard rolled over, Mikey had an expectant look on his face. “What’s up, Gee?”

“Uhh, I’m sleeping,” Gerard answered. Mikey angled his head in wait for more detail. “I was out all night. I need more sleep.”

“With Frank?” Mikey poked Gerard's shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Gerard muttered into his pillow.

“How'd it go?” In response, Gerard burrowed under the blankets and groaned. Mikey grabbed his shoulder and shook it. "What does that mean?"

Gerard sighed into his pillow. He flipped onto his back, feeling around the bedside table for his cigarettes.

“He's nice. I had fun,” Gerard said, punctuating his remorse with the flick of his lighter.

“Gee,” Mikey said patiently, “I want the extended version.” He stretched out beside Gerard and they both started at the ceiling. “Unless you had sex—that I don’t wanna hear about.”

Gerard inhaled and rubbed at his eyes. Starting at the beginning, he told Mikey everything, including the panic attack and how he shot Frank down when he tried to kiss him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me."

Mikey tried to hide a smile. “You’re allowed to be a prude.”

Gerard scrunched up his face and blew a stream of smoke in Mikey’s direction. “I’m not a prude.” Mikey coughed and Gerard waved away the lingering smoke. “Shit. Do you think Frank thinks I’m a prude?”

“You put yourself out there. He wouldn’t have asked for your number if he didn’t want to see you again. Maybe he likes prudes. The thrill of the chase?”

“Maybe he was being nice.” Gerard closed his eyes.

“At least you know he’s gay,” Mikey said. “Or, is there a word for a person that falls in love with inanimate objects. Or like, specifically guitars?”

“Mikey,” Gerard huffed. “You’re totally not funny.”

“Yeah,” Mikey said lightly. “I like, totally am.”

Gerard scoffed. “Shut up. I can’t help that I sound like a fucking Valley girl when I’m anxious.” He took the last two puffs and sat up to stub it out. Then he wrenched his hands together in his lap and lowered his voice. “One of the guys in his band told me I’m not Frank’s type. And that Frank doesn’t need my drama in his life, whatever the fuck that means.”

“What that fuck, dude?” Mikey sat up, the indignation rolling off of him in waves. “Which one? Hambone?”

“No, Shaun… the guy on the keyboard.”

“Don’t listen to him—he looks like a dope.”

“He’s one of Frank’s best friends. Obviously he knows him better than I do. He’s right. Frank’s cool,” Gerard said glumly. He laid back down. “He’s got tattoos and he’s in a band.”

“He also still lives with his mom and carries around packets of tissues like Grams.” Mikey slouched down to lay his head on Gerard’s shoulder. “I think you’re evenly matched in the nerd department. And you’re not boring—you’re cool as shit, you just don’t see it.”

Gerard frowned and lit another cigarette in response. 

Mikey continued. “Frank likes you. Who cares if some dude doesn’t think you’re his type? He doesn’t know you. He can fuck off. Everybody has drama. You don’t own that or whatever.”

“I didn’t tell him that I’m an alcoholic.” Gerard puffed on his cigarette. “I lied.”

“You didn’t lie.”

“I lied by omission. Same thing.” Gerard frowned. “I told him I couldn’t drink because I was on medication.”

“That’s not entirely false though, is it?”

“Medication like penicillin for an infection, not antidepressants because I’m mental.”

“You’re not mental,” Mikey said with a huff. “And you’re blowing this out of proportion. You met him like, two days ago. It’s okay to not tell every single person you meet your entire traumatic history.” Mikey sighed and gave him a sad, lingering look and Gerard had to look away. “Gee, if this is too much for you, maybe you should let it go.”

“I thought you wanted me to start dating again. Go out and have fun,” Gerard said with a frown.

“Maybe I was wrong. This guy’s getting you all worked up and stressed out about nothing.”

“It’s not _nothing_.”

“All of this insecure bullshit is in your head—you know that. It’s not good for you.”

Gerard flicked off some ash and picked at his nails. His smoke still had a couple of good drags left but he didn’t want it anymore. Mikey sat patiently as Gerard smushed it out and stared at the mattress some more. He crossed his arms and finally met Mikey’s gaze.

“I just want shit to be normal without all that bullshit getting in the way.”

“Shut up. What the fuck is normal, anyway?”

“You know what I mean. I like him a lot.” Gerard picked at his nails some more. “And I need to get laid.”

Mikey smacked him with a pillow. “So fucking get over yourself and tell him about the drinking and shit before it goes anywhere. He’ll accept it, or he won’t. Either way, you can move on and stop worrying about how he’s going to react.”

Gerard made a disgruntled noise. “Stop being so rational.”

He was about to tell Mikey about Frank’s tattoos when his phone rang. It was too early for Frank to be back from the show, so when he answered, it was a shock to hear his voice on the other end. His stomach swooped.

“I’m still in Scranton, but I thought I’d call while I let the other guys pack up the van. A little payback for last night.” Frank snickered. The playful tone of his voice loosened something in Gerard’s chest.

“They deserve it,” Gerard agreed. “How was the show?”

“Amazing. The audience was pretty crazy for a Sunday afternoon. I think you would have appreciated the costumes. I saw a girl dressed up as Wonder Woman but her outfit wasn’t half as good as yours. She wasn’t as hot as you, either." Frank lowered his voice and Gerard strained to hear him through the noise of the club. “I never told you that, did I?”

“You were drunk,” Gerard reasoned. “You’re drunk now.”

“Nope, just coming down from the high of a good gig. Lowers my inhibitions.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“So, what are you doing right now?”

“I’m in bed.” Frank guffawed down the line, while Mikey mouthed ‘smooth’. Flustered, Gerard tried to kick Mikey off the bed and talk to Frank at the same time. “I mean, I was taking a nap—I was sleeping.”

“Oh, did I wake you up?”

“No, Mikey did,” Gerard replied.

“You’re in bed with your brother?”

“Yes.” Gerard glared at Mikey, who made no motion to give him privacy.

“Kinky.”

“Frank, no,” Gerard protested, as Mikey silently laughed at him. “Eww.” Frank laughed too, and Gerard decided to change tactics. “Mikey thinks you’re a giant nerd.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Frank said. 

“Of course, he is. You’re in a band—you're cool.” 

“I told you about my glasses. Wait till you see me in them. We’re talking full-on Revenge of the Nerds.”

“Uhh,” Gerard stammered.

“Are you picturing me in glasses right now?”

“No.” 

“Does this mean you still want to hang out tonight? I had to call to be sure you hadn’t given me a fake number.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Gerard said softly. He pushed his concerns away and made plans to pick Frank up on his way back from his grandma’s that night. When he hung up the phone he had a ridiculous smile on his face and his stomach was flip-flopping all over the place.

"He called. He likes you,” Mikey said pointedly.

"I guess."

"Will you stop feeling sorry for yourself and obsessing over it? You're a good person—the best—and you deserve to be happy."

“Does that mean you’ll make yourself scarce tonight?”

“Oh, one hundred percent,” Mikey said a little too enthusiastically. “I have no interest in watching you two make moon eyes at each other all night. Grosser than the alien that’s turning everyone inside out.”

“Uh, Frank’s on my side—we’re watching ‘Halloween 3’.”

“Ugh, you deserve each other,” Mikey groaned. He teased Gerard a bit more but Gerard didn’t care. He had a hot date to look forward to. Maybe he was Frank’s type after all.

*

“I don’t think Grams cares which t-shirt you wear to hand out Halloween candy,” Mikey drawled from Gerard’s doorway. Gerard spun around and Mikey flashed him a teasing smile. Gerard held up a couple of t-shirts, shaking them in question. “As long as it’s a cool band, Frank won’t care either. Just don’t wear one of the wolf ones Grams bought at Walmart. That’s more nerd than even you can pull off.”

“I like the wolves.” Gerard frowned.

“Yeah, so does Grams—that’s my point.”

Gerard dug around and unearthed an old tee with Suede’s debut album cover on the front. When he held it up, Mikey made a great face and left the room. Gerard listened to him stomp up the stairs and then back down again into Gerard’s room. He yanked the t-shirt from Gerard’s hand and tossed a black one over his face.

“Suede is a great band.” Gerard slid the shirt off his head, messing up his hair and inspected the shirt Mikey had given him. “Maybe not as cool as the Stones, but still fucking awesome.”

“Suede is cool,” Mikey said. “Plastering this shit across your chest”—Mikey motioned at the two guys kissing on the album cover—“is a little too desperate and probably not appropriate for handing out candy to small children.”

“Hmm. I guess you’re right.”

“You’ll thank me later.” 

“I’ll thank you now.” He smacked a kiss to Mikey’s cheek. 

“Save it for Frank.” Mikey wiped his face. “Now hurry up. It’s gonna be dark soon, and I want some Kit Kats before Grams gives them all away.”

Despite Mikey’s concerns, it was nowhere near dark when Gerard pulled into the driveway. They entered the kitchen and were greeted by a giant bowl of candies and fun-sized chocolate bars instead of their grandmother.

“Grams!” Gerard called out. “Mikey’s eating all the Kit Kats!”

When there was no reply, Gerard left Mikey to root around the goodies while he sought her out. The most likely place was in her art studio in the attic. Inspiration could strike at any time—Gerard knew the feeling well. 

He was rounding the staircase to the second floor when he saw her. Something was wrong. Her feet were sticking out because she was lying on the floor of her bedroom. Something was very, very wrong. Gerard's heart leapt into his throat.

“Mikey!” Gerard shouted down the stairs, “Call an ambulance.” Not waiting for a reply, he scrambled towards her, calling her name as he fell to his knees. 

Time slowed down but in equal measure, everything happened so quickly that Gerard registered very little. He remembered doing CPR, Mikey yelling, and a bunch of paramedics in the house. Getting to the hospital was a complete blur, but he knows the siren on the ambulance was deafeningly loud. 

His parents found them in the waiting room at the hospital. He didn't know if he had called them or Mikey had. Mikey had his hand in a vice-like grip but it didn’t hurt. He couldn’t feel anything at all. His mom couldn’t stop crying. A doctor approached them and his dad stood up. Gerard didn’t hear what they said, but whatever it was caused his mom to pull both him and Mikey into a too-tight hug.

When his dad said they were leaving, Gerard shook his head. “No, Dad, what about Grams? We can’t leave her here alone.”

“Gerard, there’s nothing we can do here.” He wrapped an arm around Gerard, pulling him close. “Son, she had a stroke. She’s gone.”

“No.” Gerard tried to push him away. “She’s fine. I was with her this afternoon and she was fine.”

“Gerard, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.” His dad let him go but when his family started walking towards the elevator, he was compelled to follow them. Mikey clung to his mom and reached back to grab Gerard’s arm to tug him along beside them. Gerard couldn’t figure out what was going on. Surely if this was real, if something had happened, he'd be upset too. Instead, he felt nothing.

He existed in a dreamlike state for a few days. Nothing felt real. Things happened around him and little made sense. When his family spoke to him it washed over him like a cloud. Half the time he wasn’t sure if he was awake.

Afterwards, everyone told him that he’d been in shock. Eventually, when everything registered, it hit him like a freight train—that was the real shock. His mom found him crumpled on the bathroom floor with his head in his hands, shaking with grief. She held him as he cried, whispering, “Oh, honey,” into his hair over and over again.

While he couldn’t recall coming into the bathroom, the shirt he had on smelled funky and he wanted to shower. Once he was in clean clothes, he went in search of his brother.

“Welcome back.” Mikey's words were light, but the sense of relief on his face palpable.

“Hi.” Gerard collapsed onto his bed beside Mikey. “Sorry I was all…” he waved his hands around for lack of words.

“You were in shock,” Mikey explained, rolling over to face him. “Mom freaked when you wouldn’t snap out of it. She took you to the doctor. Do you remember?”

“Vaguely.” Gerard ran a hand through his wet hair. “It was like I was here but I was underwater or something. I couldn’t feel anything. It was weird as fuck.” He flexed his fingers and thought he still felt a bit weird.

“Yeah, you were all like, spaced out. Dad called the school and got you the week off.” Mikey squeezed his elbow and looked him over carefully. “The funeral’s the day after tomorrow. Half the family’s in town already and most of them are staying here. It’s gonna be a madhouse. I’m bunking with you until everyone leaves.”

“Great.” While relieved to have his brother close, Gerard was not keen on having his extended family invade his home. 

And invade, they did.

The next day, Gerard’s bedroom was open for business. Currently, it roomed not only him and Mikey but five kids between the ages of six and fourteen—the spawn of several of their cousins. For the first time in his life he wished for a smaller bedroom he could keep to himself. At least he and Mikey got to sleep in his bed. The others had to camp out on his floor, their crap strewed across the carpet. Two nights. They’d be gone the day after the funeral. He could handle it. He had to.

Mikey had set up his Game Cube in Gerard's room and was getting his ass whooped by a ten-year-old at Mario Kart. Every time Mikey’s car hit the guardrail and exploded, Joey would cheer. Mikey shushed him for the umpteenth time and whispered something in the kid’s ear.

“What’s an indoor voice?” Joey said loudly.

Gerard bit back a groan and sat up slowly. Sleeping bags were arranged around his bed like a moat. There was not one twitch of motion as the other kids slept like the dead. It was impressive. Tragically, the controller clicking and Joey's enthusiasm had woken him up a while ago. He fumbled for a cigarette and sat up, sticking it in his mouth. The flick of his lighter caught Mikey’s attention. He motioned at Joey with big eyes and shook his head.

Right. No smoking with the rug-rats around. In a sulk, he tossed the lighter back on his nightstand and tucked the cigarette behind his ear. The ceiling creaked as someone walked through the kitchen. Of course, the adults were up. No way could he get outside without being spotted. And without coffee, chit-chat was out of the question.

He watched Mikey and Joey play, reigning in his emotions. When he thought about the funeral, he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. It wasn’t fair that he hadn’t gotten a proper good-bye. He should have spent the day with her. If he’d been there to call an ambulance she might still be alive. A sickness twisted through his stomach. He wiped at his eyes and then rubbed a hand through his hair.

He picked a dirty hoody up off the floor and put it on, stuffing his smokes and lighter in the pocket. In socked feet, he picked his way across the room, mindful not to step on anyone. He braced himself before he descended the stairs.

The floorboards creaked as he set one foot in the kitchen.

“Gerard, good morning.” Aunt Lorraine: pleasant and polite to the point of passive-aggressive judgement. She was settled in at the dining table along with Uncle Rob and his cousins Eric and Sarah. The others offered him greetings of varying enthusiasm. He waved a hand in acknowledgement as he shuffled to the coffee machine. 

Perfect. He was just in time to watch Uncle Ernie pour the last of the coffee into his mug. He gave Gerard a nod and slid the pot back into the machine. Gerard clenched his jaw to hold back expletives. He breathed deeply and told himself that it was only coffee.

Uncle Ernie dumped in cream and sugar, stirring with more vigour than necessary. As he slurped, he gave Gerard's hair a once-over and then moved to the dining table. Gerard bit his tongue and set to brew a fresh pot.

“Gerard, darling, I hope you're rinsing that with warm water,” Aunt Lorraine called out. “If it's too cold you’ll crack the glass." 

With an eye roll intended to be seen from across the room, he set the machine to brew. The nagging reverted him to an angry teen. He pouted and brushed a hand through his hair. It dislodged his cigarette and it fell to the floor. As he bent to retrieve it, he caught his head on the edge of the counter and it sent a sharp stab of pain through his skull. He cursed and pressed his fingers into the sore spot, fighting the urge to sit on the floor and scream until his voice gave out. They would love that. Crazy Gerard, losing his mind over a pot of coffee.

“Darling, watch your language.”

Gerard stood up and rolled the cigarette between his fingers. Aunt Lorraine would flip her shit if he lit up right here in the kitchen. If she called him darling one more time he’d smoke the rest of the pack. But he behaved himself. Tucked the smoke in his pocket and picked at his cuticles while he waited for the coffee. 

His mom blew in, bringing with her an air of nervous energy. Fully dressed and frazzled, she hurried to the cupboard, nudging Gerard out of the way to get at the coffee mugs. She babbled about caterers and folding chairs, her hands motioning at nothing in particular. Her manic energy invaded his space and he tensed up.

“Can I help?” Gerard asked. “I can go pick stuff up for you.”

“No, honey, that’s alright. If you and Mikey keep the kiddos entertained that would be a big help.” Gerard nodded and gave his relatives on the other side of the room an expectant look. “You’ve got a house full of people—let them do something to help.” First, he got stunned looks and then one by one, they offered to help. In rapid-fire, his mom doled out errands, stress lines increasing.

Then she busied herself by refilling the sugar bowl. She found the last carton of cream and cursed under her breath. “Mom, chill.” Gerard touched her arm. “Take a breath.” He dug through the cupboard until he found a container of powdered coffee creamer.

She gave him a long and scrutinizing look. “How are you doing? Are you okay?” It was quiet enough that his relatives in the adjoining dining room wouldn't hear. Gerard had lost track of how many times he'd been asked that over the past few days. 

“Yeah.” He answered automatically. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t forget you have your appointment first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I know.” His weekly session with his psychiatrist. Like he could forget. She meant well and that was the sole reason he didn’t snap back at her.

“I'll drive you.” 

Gerard shot her a look and shook his head. He would do anything to get out of the house for a few hours. Alone. 

“Okay, honey. Let me know if you change your mind.” She gave him a tired smile, pushing up on her toes to peck his cheek. Then she thumbed off the residual lipstick.

"Donna," Uncle Ernie called from across the room. "You're not gonna let him go to the funeral with his hair lookin’ like that, are you?" Everyone at the table stopped talking and turned their attention to Gerard and his blazing red do. With a frown, Gerard ran a self-conscious hand over his head and then turned his back to them to prepare his coffee.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mom give her brother a dirty look. "There's nothing wrong with Gerard's hair. I coloured it myself."

"It's a funeral. He looks like Ronald McDonald. I thought your kids were into all that black death, goth nonsense anyway."

“Yeah, when I was a teenager.” Gerard sipped from his mug and leaned against the counter. “That was a long time ago. I _teach_ high school now.”

"Oh, mind your business, Ernie. Gerard's not a kid—he's almost thirty," cousin Sarah said, snapping the newspaper in her hands before going back to reading it.

"Twenty-seven, thanks," Gerard corrected. 

"How's that going, Gerard? Do you like working with teens?" Eric asked. 

Fucking great, now everyone thought it was time to chat. "It’s fine.”

"Cindy's been volunteering with Jesse's youth group. I bet she could give you some ideas for activities to do with your classes."

"Yeah, sure,” Gerard mumbled, not really giving a fuck. Cindy, Eric's wife, spent her free time with their church. The youth group in question was for six-year-olds. The bible-thumping games that Cindy led would in no way be appropriate for high school students. It might be an entertaining experiment if he wasn't teaching in a public school. 

“You know, Cindy is quite the social butterfly." Aunt Lorraine chimed in, way too excited. "You should let her introduce you to some of the girls from bible study.” 

Gerard picked at his nails. “I’m gay, Aunt Lorraine.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t give it a try.”

“That’s exactly what it means.”

Sarah snorted into her coffee and gave Gerard a knowing smile. He nodded in solidarity, using the opportunity to escape before he could be questioned further.

His departure was punctuated by the screeching of the screen door as he pushed it open. The last thing he heard as he went outside was Uncle Ernie grilling his mom about why her two grown children still lived at home. 

Outside on the back deck, the cold air and bright sky were like a slap to the face. He wouldn’t last long without shoes or shades, but he would finish his coffee and smoke a cigarette or two.

*

At some point, the kids were corralled upstairs to be fed and dressed before the funeral. The noise was relentless but it gave Gerard something superficial to be annoyed about and more importantly, his room to himself. 

Last night, after everyone had arrived, there had been a heated conversation in which the extended family debated where to hold the wake and if there’d be alcohol. That it was a matter of discussion at all was because of him. They all knew Gerard was both an alcoholic and had a tenuous grasp on his mental state; families tended to gossip worse than teenagers.

In the end, they decided that the wake would be held at the Way house and booze would be available for those who wished to drink their sorrows away. Stored under lock and key, of course. Gerard insisted it was fine, that he could be around other people drinking and it wouldn’t be a problem.

Now it was a problem. It was all he could think about, laying there in his room alone with nothing but his thoughts. At that very moment, there was a stocked bar in the living room. It was indeed locked but Gerard could pick it. He’d done it enough times a teenager. If he waited until everyone was out of the house, he could say he forgot something, come back inside and have one drink. Just one. Enough to get him through the funeral. He needed it.

He'd go for the Vodka. No one would smell it on him, would they? The basement door opened and his fantasy evaporated with the staccato sound of Mikey's dress shoes clapping down the stairs. 

"Jesus," Mikey huffed, dropping down onto Gerard's bed. He awkwardly straightened his back to not wrinkle his suit. "Aunt Lorraine is a basket case. I think she has OCD or something. She washed and dried all the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher and rearranged the cupboards. She spent the last hour re-organizing who's going in what cars and in what order we should leave. Everyone should be gone in a few minutes and then it's us with mom and dad. Aunt Lorraine tried to dump one of the kids in with us but dad put his foot down."

Knowing his dad, 'putting his foot down' probably meant he casually mentioned a lack of working seat-belts or suggested Gerard drive. The helicopter parents would love that.

The footsteps overhead died down, the front door opened and slammed shut several times. Engines started. Mikey squeezed Gerard’s shoulder before offering his hand to help him up off the bed. They both straightened their black suits, Gerard donned a pair of sunglasses, and together they emerged from the basement.

When they crossed through the living room, Gerard tried and failed to not look at the bar in the corner. But Mikey urged him along, leading him out into the daylight and to the car until Gerard had missed his opportunity.

They drove in silence. Gerard leaned his head against the window and watched the world go by. The day was sunny and unseasonably warm and it fucking sucked. Everyone else got to go on with their day like normal while Gerard and his family had to bury the one person who understood him better than anyone. He wouldn't survive the day if he didn't practice a little self-preservation and close himself off emotionally. 

They walked into the church and the pews were full. Gerard avoided eye contact, tucking himself between Mikey and his mom. The service itself left him fragile. At the cemetery, he couldn't stop the tears as they lowered the coffin into the ground. After that, it was easier to pretend he was coping.

Within an hour, the Way house was packed with friends, relatives, and well-wishers from all walks of life. His grandmother had lived a long and full life, and it seemed like everyone in New Jersey had come to say good-bye.

Gerard played the ever-dutiful grandson, circling the room, getting hugs and handshakes from an uncomfortable number of strangers. There were a lot of people there from the church. Gerard kept busy, exchanging pleasantries and making introductions. It was a chore. All he wanted to do was walk over to the bar and pour himself a drink to quench his relentless thirst.

His friends from art school came by. They gave him extra-long hugs and then traded quips back and forth as a distraction. Anthony gushed about his new puppy, Gretchen flung insults around like it was her new hobby, and Peter groped his ass and told him how good he looked in black. Sophie looked sad and kept her self-deprecating comments to a minimum. Gerard stayed quiet and thought about how much he had missed them.

He'd been at it for an hour or two, maintaining a brave face for the masses, when he'd gone into the kitchen to find his cousins Alex and Sarah doing shots of whiskey. Sarah had the sense to apologize but when Alex offered him one, Gerard was done.

He went outside and smoked three cigarettes before heading down to the basement. No Mikey, but his cousin Elle was there minding the rug-rats. She sat in a chair in the corner cross-legged and completely absorbed with her pink flip-phone. Gerard was impressed—she typed faster than Mikey. 

The second he slid off his jacket, Tyler was at his knees, wrinkling up his nose.

"Eww! You stink!" Tyler stuck out his tongue and gagged dramatically. 

"I was smoking," Gerard answered as he loosened his tie. He yanked it off over his head and deposited it on his bedside table. 

"Why were you smoking?" The kid looked so affronted Gerard had to laugh. He sat down on the bed to pull his shoes off, putting him face-to-face with Tyler. "Because I wanted to."

"Where did you get cigarettes?"

"The store."

"What store?"

"I don't remember."

"Did you steal them?"

"What's with the Spanish Inquisition?"

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!” Zach yelled across the room. Gerard called back, “Nice, Zach,” giving him a ‘thumbs up’ for the Python reference.

“Can I have a cigarette?” Zack shouted back.

“Hell, no,” Gerard replied.

"Answer the question, Gerard." Tyler waggled his tiny finger in Gerard’s face. Tyler's parents had been watching too much 'Inspector Morse'.

"Tyler," Elle snapped, looking up from her phone. "Leave Gerard alone."

Gerard flopped back onto his bed. With an indignant huff, Tyler crossed his arms and kicked the bed. "No. Gerard said a bad word.”

“What bad word did he say?” Rosie asked, attention diverted away from her colouring.

“H – E – double hockey sticks!” Tyler said, getting giggles out of all the younger kids. They had multiplied since the morning. Nearly a dozen shrill little voices and no sense of melancholy.

In no universe was it fair that Gerard had to endure a room full of children with neither cigarettes nor alcohol. He stuck his tongue out at Tyler and then stuffed his pillow over his head. Then he screamed as loud as he could without alarming anyone. When he came out for air, Tyler was still standing by Gerard's bed with a scowl on his face.

Elle sighed and got up to forcibly move Tyler from Gerard's bedside to the bookshelf where Gerard kept his DVD collection. "Here, pick one." She pointed to the Disney section of the shelf. "Everyone else, sit the fudge down."

When Elle put on the movie and flicked off the lights, the room quieted. Gerard stretched out, and let himself zone out to the songs of ‘Pocahontas’. At some point, the bed dipped and Mikey settled in beside him. They exchanged a silent fist bump and Gerard closed his eyes again. Much later in the movie, the kids on the floor got restless and chatty and Gerard picked out one of them talking about wanting a tattoo like Pocahontas.

"Oh, shit." Gerard sat up abruptly.

"Gerard said a swear!" Tyler shouted from the floor.

"Gee?" Mikey tilted his head to look up at Gerard.

"Frank," Gerard whispered, although not quietly enough.

"Who's Frank?" Tyler stood up and put his hands on his hips. Rosie pushed him out of the way of the TV and before Gerard could finish his thought all the kids were back in action, whining and bugging each other.

"I forgot about Frank." Gerard slapped a to his head. "I totally stood him up—he must think I'm the biggest jerk in the world."

“All good,” Mikey said easily. "I talked to him when you were out it. He called a bunch of times, so I answered your phone. I told him there'd been a sudden death in the family. He seemed worried so I told him you were okay. He said to take all the time you need and not worry about calling him back until you're ready."

"How'd I miss all that?"

"I turned off your answering machine. He left a bunch of messages. When I talked to him he begged me to erase them all. I think he was embarrassed."

"What? Why?" Gerard leaned up on his elbow and poked Mikey in the arm. "Did you listen to them?"

"Nah. He thought you'd ditched him on purpose so he was a little pissed. Obviously, he felt guilty when he found out that something happened."

Gerard blew out a stream of air and fell back onto his pillow. "Thanks, Mikey." Turning his head sideways to look at Mikey, Gerard added, "You're the best."

Mikey smiled. “I know.”

There was a dip in the bed on Gerard's other side.

"So," Elle said, "Who's Frank?" Her face lit up like she was on an expedition for gossip.

Gerard sighed and wished he could figure that out himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's such a downer. Big hugs to anyone dealing with the death of a loved one right now. xxx


	7. This House is Condemned

The morning after the funeral, Gerard snuck into the upstairs bathroom to shower and shave before anyone woke up. His head felt fuzzy and heavy as he dressed in the dark and then hurried out the front door, closing it carefully behind him. No way did he want his mom to drive him to his psych appointment. The sun was barely up, the sky a haze of cadmium orange and prawn bleeding from the bright core of the sun. He shivered behind the wheel and started the engine with fingers numb from the cold.

Brian’s office was downtown Montclair. Gerard had gone to teachers college at Montclair State, on the other end of town. He’d started seeing the psychiatrist around the same time so it was a familiar route, one he probably had done with his eyes closed, once or twice.

The lot beside the building was tiny and his car did not handle well in cramped situations, so he parked first and then walked to the Starbucks down the street. It was that or Dunkin’ Donuts. Nothing else was open that early. He needed a kick in the pants so he ordered a Red Eye and then watched in a daze as the barista dumped an espresso shot into his cup of Gold Coast Blend. Wasn’t his favourite, but it would do the trick. Steaming coffee in hand, he went back to his car and sat in the parking lot, smoking and sorting out his thoughts.

After the accident, he was thrust into therapy and had cycled through psychiatrists like a disappointing round of speed dating. One after another, a revolving door of doctors that made Gerard feel hopeless and broken. He’d taken a break from sessions altogether after one doctor had recommended conversion therapy for his homosexuality. Like shocking Gerard straight would magically fix his problems. Instead of punching the guy in the face, Gerard walked right out of his office and then spent a week pretending he had the flu so he didn’t have to get out of bed.

Then he met a doctor who was just starting out. He was young and easy to talk to. One who didn’t patronize him like Dr. Bronwell or placate him like Dr. Snider. Nor did he prescribe as many pills as the others. And he definitely didn’t think Gerard’s sexual preference was the root of his pain. Gerard got that out of the way the day they met.

He’d shaken Gerard’s hand and said, “Dr. Brian Schechter. Call me Brian if it makes you more comfortable.” Gerard had replied, “Gerard. I’m gay and if you have a problem with that, you can shove it up your ass.” Brian let out a shocked laugh and then shook his head, motioning at the couch. He didn’t even mention it when Gerard chose to sit on the floor and spent the entire session talking to his own knees.

It was a rough time in Gerard’s life. He’d been clean for six months when he had fallen into an ill-advised relationship with another recovering addict. Even though he’d been warned to abstain from a relationship for a least a year, he had somehow believed he was above it. He was wrong.

Brian entered Gerard’s life not long before he’d gotten clean for the second time. By then, Gerard was in teacher’s college and attending AA on a regular basis, desperate to get his shit together. Gerard basically traded in his fucked up relationship for professional help and it made all the difference. Brian had played a huge part in getting Gerard to where he was today and for that, Gerard trusted him with every one of his crazy thoughts.

By now it was a familiar routine. Brian’s soft-spoken receptionist, Susan, greeted him at the door in her blonde eighties hair and baby-blue eyeliner. Even in the winter, she wore summer dresses, always busy patterns in bright colours. She often topped it off with a blazer and the same silver brooch pinned to the collar. It was unusual—a cat waving a cane and top hat—so one day Gerard had asked. Puss in Boots. It had been her mother’s, she explained. Today her blazer was a grassy green. She smiled and waved Gerard through as soon as he walked in.

Brian’s office was decorated in warm browns and pinks. He had a massive desk with little on top, its purpose seemingly to intimidate. Not Brian at all. He’d inherited it from the previous tenants of the building because it was too big to get through the door without breaking it into pieces. Behind it hung an abstract painting in pastels. Gerard had once joked it was some sort of Rorschach test. Although it was not two mirrored-halves of a whole, he saw something different during every session and if he felt magnanimous, he’d share his thoughts with the doctor.

Gerard walked in, shucking his jacket and tossing it over the back of the brown leather sofa that had seen him through many breakdowns. He sank like an anchor, his head flopping back like it was too heavy to hold up. He peered across the room through slitted eyes. Brian took his time, needlessly shuffling some papers before crossing the room to settle in his cushioned armchair. When he started talking, his voice was soothing but he wanted Gerard to start talking.

Gerard hesitated. Where to begin?

Once he got going the words came easy and he found he had a lot to say. Sparing no detail, he skipped around, rambling about everything from losing his grandmother to getting beat up on Halloween and meeting Frank. Brian told him to take a breath and when he did, his chest heaved like he’d just smoked a pack of Luckies. 

Brian had him break everything down and focus on one thing at a time, asking him simple yes or no questions to slow him down. He talked him through it, helping him reframe his scattered thoughts so they were easier to process. Gerard was a fucking mess. Schechter deserved every penny he earned from listening to his shit.

“I’m scared I’m going to fall apart,” Gerard admitted. “I’m not handling anything very well.”

“Gerard, you’ve had a traumatic week. Under the circumstances, you’re doing remarkably well. You’re too hard on yourself. You need time to process everything. You have the tools to get through this and no one expects you to bounce back to normal.”

“My family won’t stop asking me if I’m okay. They treat me like I’m on the verge of a total breakdown and it makes me question myself. Like maybe I’m even more fucked than I realize.”

“Let them know how you feel. Tell them to trust you to ask for help if you need it. You can’t control their feelings any more than they don’t control yours. Of course, they’re going to worry but that’s not your problem to solve. You work on you.”

“I want a drink. I know it won’t solve anything but part of me doesn’t care about the consequences. A huge part.”

“Well, you know that’s your choice, Gerard. Who do you want to be? Is the part of you that doesn’t care the same voice that berates you and tells you you’re not good enough? The self-sabotaging one? You’ve been there before. Is that life you want for yourself? I promise you, you’re worthy and you deserve much more than that.”

As Brian’s words soaked in, he freed some tissues from the box on Brian’s desk and used them to blow his nose and pat his eyes dry. He hadn’t broken down in front of Brian for some time but it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Gerard in this state before. After Brian badgered him about medication and how much sleep he was getting, he suggested Gerard go to an AA meeting to check in with his urges. 

On his way out the door, Brian handed him a pamphlet on the stages of grief. It took a whole lot of restraint not to roll his eyes but Gerard heard him loud and clear.

“Nothing wrong with a little refresher,” Brian said. “A reminder that everything you’re experiencing is healthy and normal.”

Gerard shoved it in his pocket and promised to read it.

On his way out, he slid his sunglasses on even though the sky had turned cloudy and grey. He leaned against his car, smoking as long as his fingers could stand the frigid air. When he slid into the driver’s seat he had to rub his hands together and warm them up before he could start the engine. He didn’t want to go home. They were all waiting for him. His dad had a copy of the will and they wanted to discuss the terms before all the relatives left town. The sinking feeling in his stomach increased and he decided that one stop on the way back wouldn’t do any harm.

*

When he finally got home, the adults were sitting around the living room whispering and looking impatient. All eyes fell on him. Gerard held up two boxes of donuts as a peace offering and the noise level racketed to an eleven. A headache bloomed across his forehead and he used his other hand to massage his temples. The last thing he wanted to do after his psych session was to sit in a room with his relatives and divvy up his grandmother's possessions.

“Sorry, Hon.” His mom thanked him with a hug and Gerard nodded into her shoulder. “Everyone’s eager to hit the road. The sooner we do this, the sooner we get our house back.” Gerard forced a smile and told her not to worry.

By the time he’d kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat, the vultures were circling the boxes, fighting for their favourites. Chairs were scarce, so Gerard sank to the floor beside Mikey. He waved a bear claw in the air in thanks, showing his appreciation by tousling Gerard’s hair with his sticky fingers.

There was no formal reading of the will like in the movies. Everyone knew his parents were the executors. They had signed the papers when Grams had bequeathed this and that to all her sons and daughters and so on. 

Gerard had stayed out of it. Who the fuck cared who got the china and crystal vases or his grandfather’s golf clubs and stamp collection? Nothing could bring her back—Grams was gone. Everything else was meaningless. As long as he could keep some of her artwork he didn’t care what happened to the rest of it.

Somehow, reality ended up more dramatic than anything Gerard had ever seen on television. When Mikey elbowed him out of his daze, he shrank back at the shouting match that had erupted between Aunt Christie and his cousins Mark and Rita. They were probably fighting over a Royal Doulton tea set or something equally horrible. 

Mikey gave him an exasperated look. “Were you even listening?”

Gerard shook his head. “Sorry.” He couldn’t hear himself think over the bickering and the pounding in his head.

Mikey leaned in close. “Gee, she left you the house. And her art. Like all of it. ”

“What?” Gerard’s face contorted. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“See,” Aunt Christie shouted, motioning at Gerard. “Even he doesn’t know why. Obviously, it’s a mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake,” his mom said matter-of-factly. “It’s what she wanted.” She stood up and blocked Gerard from his aunt and her feather flapping.

Mark and Rita argued that they should sell the house and split the money between all the grandchildren. Aunt Christie thought she and her husband should control the estate. When Uncle Ernie started on about how it wasn’t right that someone who wasn’t going to have kids—namely, Gerard—should get a house, Gerard’s dad told Ernie to step outside to cool down. Gerard’s legs shook as he stood up and his stomach plummeted somewhere below his knees.

“Gerard, honey.” His mom tried to get an arm around him. “Are you alright?”

“No. For fucks sake—of course, I’m not!” He shrugged her off and took a step back. “You knew—how could you not tell me? How could you lie to me like that?” 

She covered her open mouth, taken aback. The room got quiet and everyone stared at him like he was the one being unreasonable.

“Son, it was never a secret.” His dad touched his shoulder. “We meant to talk to you about it before anything happened.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Rita complained. “You got the house. Suck it up and be grateful.” 

“Rita!” Aunt Christie snapped. “Shut your mouth.”

“No,” Rita replied. “If he doesn’t want it, I’ll take it. You know that’s a great neighbourhood—I’ll do some reno and then sell it. I’ll even split the money with you,” she added.

“Unbelievable,” Mikey muttered, shaking his head.

Gerard’s hands trembled. How on earth was he related to these people? 

“Take it, then,” he said, choking on his emotions. No one heard him so he started shouting, “Take it! Take all of it! I don’t fucking want it!” and then left the room on unsteady feet, clinging to the walls to keep from falling over. His chest tightened and suddenly he was hyperventilating. He stumbled out the back door to get some air and collapsed on the steps, wiping tears from his face. He tugged out a cigarette and lit it with a snap, smoking furiously.

Within minutes his mom joined him. He couldn’t look at her but he didn’t tell her to leave. The shock on her face had been enough to make him feel guilty for eternity. She stole his cigarette, took a drag, and then passed it back to him, leaning into his shoulder.

“You know you were her favourite, Gerard. She loved you a lot.”

Gerard stared hard at the ground. “Thought you weren’t supposed to have favourites?”

“That’s your own kids,” she replied. “You can have a favourite grandchild, obviously, because she did.”

“I miss her so much,” Gerard said quietly.

“Me too.” She sighed, and Gerard peered at her sideways, finally sliding an arm around her back.

“I don’t know if I can go back to her house now that she’s gone. After what happened.”

“Gerard, honey.” She wiped at his cheeks and tousled his hair. “The house is yours. You can do whatever you want with it. You can sell it, you can live in it, you can give it away, and you don’t have to go inside ever again if you don’t want to. It’s your decision and you can take as long as you want with it. Your dad and I can deal with the family drama. No one’s going to pressure you.”

“Thanks, mom,” Gerard said.

She hugged him and said, “It’s what she wanted.”

*

Gerard returned to work. School activities were a great distraction and by God, teenagers kept him occupied. His senior art students were working on their portfolios for college applications and were desperate for feedback. Gerard checked in with each of them, doling out a careful balance of critiques and compliments. 

The next class were working on still life drawings. When they complained about drawing fruit and flowers in his absence, he emptied his pockets—sunglasses, cigarettes, car keys—and tossed them all on top of his leather jacket. He carried a piece of charcoal for demonstration and by the end of the class, his fingers were smudged in black.

When the lunch bell rang, he collected the drawings. Then he grabbed a sheet of newsprint and started drawing. A couple of students had stayed back to do work of their own but the room remained comfortably silent with only the soft noises of pencil scratches and strokes of paint.

As he sketched, his thoughts overwhelmed him. After his relatives had left, the house had fallen into silence and Gerard had immediately missed the chaos. His family tip-toed around him, leaving him to wallow on his own. They knew he preferred to be alone when he got like this. Besides, there was nothing anyone could do to make it better. He spent the weekend in bed, worrying over pretty much everything. What the fuck was he supposed to do with a house he was terrified to enter? It was stupid but he thought about Frank and wondered if he’d still want to hang out with him after ignoring him for so long. Okay, a week. But they hadn’t even gotten anywhere and already Gerard’s _drama_ was getting in the way.

The squeak of sneakers on the floor got everyone’s attention. “Mr. Way?”

“Hey, Craig, what’s up?” Gerard set his charcoal down and wiped his hands on his pants. It was a bad habit. They were black though, so with any luck, no one would notice the dust across his thighs. Craig scanned the room and asked if they could go into Gerard’s office.

The backroom was tiny and cluttered; Gerard spent as little time in there as possible. It smelled like all the art supplies had thrown a party and the aftermath was an astringent, chemical odour Gerard brought home on his clothes. He left the door wide open and took the stool furthest from the door. He used his foot to push the other towards Craig, encouraging him to sit down.

“Um… so, I was wondering.” Craig swivelled anxiously before continuing. “Will you be at the GSA meeting this week?” 

“Yeah, definitely,” Gerard said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there last week.”

“Okay. Good. Um, Mr. Glover was there and it was kind of weird.”

“Weird, how?” Gerard's heart sped up. Craig stilled and Gerard got a good look at his face. One of his eyes was blotted with concealer in an attempt to cover a bruise. Gerard knew that look all too well.

“For starters, he’s not gay.”

“Craig?” Gerard tensed. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I just… don’t want to talk to him about stuff.”

“What stuff?” Gerard leaned closer. “You know you can talk to me about anything.” 

“I want to bring a guy to the Christmas formal.”

“You’re allowed to. The school has no policy against it.”

“That’s not the problem. It’s my parents. My mom found some of my magazines—the dirty ones, you know?” Gerard nodded and Craig continued. “I heard her talking to my dad about sending me to one of those conversion camps. I told her it was a joke but I don’t think she believed me. I don’t know what to do.”

“You want me to talk to her?” Gerard offered.

Craig gave him a look. “No offence, but I think that’ll only make it worse. I was thinking I could get a girl to pretend to be my date and maybe another one could bring my friend. That might get them off my back. Is that a terrible idea?”

Gerard sighed and swivelled on the stool as he thought it over. “Lying is a problem. Someone will always get hurt, no matter how good your intentions are. But I do think you have to keep yourself safe. That should come above all else. I can’t tell you to lie to your parents but know that I support you whatever you decide.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mr. Way.” Craig nodded in slow understanding. “I guess you never took a guy to a dance or anything? When you were in high school?”

“No.” Gerard shook his head. “Kids weren’t really out, back then. It wasn’t safe. Anyone that felt that way saved it for college.” Craig had a grim look on his face and Gerard felt bad making it worse. “I have to ask—what happened to your eye? Did someone hit you?”

“Shit.” Cringing, Craig put a hand to his face and laughed awkwardly. “Uh, it was an accident.”

“An accident?” Gerard’s heart sank. “Craig, what happened?”

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s not,”—Craig waved his hands around—“No one hit me. I met this guy online. He lives in Boonton. We’re kind of dating but we can’t hang out at either of our houses. His parents are cool but not that cool. His mom makes us leave his bedroom door wide open. We were fooling around in my car and he accidentally clocked me in the face with his elbow, that’s all. I don’t care what happens in movies—the backseat of a car is not big enough for sex.”

Gerard cleared his throat and held up a hand to get Craig to stop talking. “Okay, okay. I get the picture.” He felt both relieved and jealous that a student was getting more action than he was.

*

The students in Gerard’s drama class were more rambunctious than usual. He was bombarded with questions as they filtered into class and he guessed that he had been missed.

They were preparing a one-act play for a show in December. For most of them, it would be their first time performing in front of an audience and they required an abundance of hand-holding. Gerard had chosen Edward Albee's 'The Sandbox' to encourage them to creatively spread their wings. A bunch of them gagged when he gave them that little speech and unfortunately, the absurdist nature of the play was proving to be a lot to digest. That led to endless arguments between the mix of by-the-book brown-nosers and flamboyant free-spirits in the class.

"Mr. Way, we still don't have someone to play the musician."

“Anyone have any ideas on what instrument and style of music you want them to play?" Gerard asked the class as a whole. They answered simultaneously, shouting out different ideas: trombone-guitar-piano-accordion-rain stick!

"Rainstick? I'm intrigued," Gerard said. "Let's have a vote." 

Somebody tore pages out of a notebook and they passed out pens and scraps of paper. When Gerard tallied the results, they were inconclusive: too many different suggestions to make a decision.

"Okay. I'll talk to Mr. Sanderson and see if any students in the music department want to help us out. We can hold auditions with different instruments and then you guys can pick who you like best." The students hemmed and hawed, whispering amongst themselves until finally, they all agreed on something.

"Good luck with that, Sir," one of the free-spirits said dryly. "I asked him if I could borrow the bongos for a dance presentation and he acted like I wanted his firstborn."

"Were you high?" Another kid asked.

"Just because I wear tie-dye, doesn't mean I'm a stoner, asshole."

"Hey! Language!" Gerard barked. "And for that comment, we're having tie-dye Thursday this week. Everyone’s going to wear a tie-dyed t-shirt for the entire class.”

"Conformist," someone muttered. "I am not dressing like a hippie all day.”—"Principal Dickson will never allow it.”—"Like I have a shirt like that at home. Eww."

Gerard picked off the questions, one by one. "Anyone interested can come to the art room tomorrow at lunch and we'll make some together. I’ll even throw in extra class credit. We’ll make enough for everybody. You only have to wear it in this class but I'll arrange it with the Principal if anyone wants to wear theirs all day and you won’t be penalized for dress code violations." Gerard put his hands on his hips and stared down the room. "Open your minds, people."

There was some grumbling, but they were teenagers. It was their like, ambition to be contrary.

When classes were done for the day, Gerard went to see the music teacher. Inter-department politics were a drag. It was his least favourite thing about the job. There was an ongoing battle between the concert band, the basketball team, and the drama club over who had priority to use the auditorium. The school had a gymnasium for sports and assemblies but the phys-ed department often monopolized both spaces for practices. That left the drama and music departments to fight over what little time remained.

Gerard tucked in his shirt and steeled himself to be as pleasant as possible. A few students lingered in the room. Mr. Sanderson was tucked away in his office so Gerard went ahead and leaned against the open door.

"Mr. Way? Can I help you with something?" Mr. Sanderson looked up expectantly. "I'm awfully busy."

Gerard cringed. Like he wasn't busy? "My drama class needs a musician for the one-act they're working on. I was hoping one of your music students would like to get involved."

"This is a grade nine class?"

"Yeah, but they'll be performing it at the December showcase. It would be a great opportunity for someone to have a featured performance." Gerard smiled with teeth for full effect.

Mr. Sanderson gave him a look over the top of his thick eyeglasses. "I'm sorry, but my students are too busy preparing for the show themselves."

Gerard tried again. “Could we maybe, ask them?"

"Good evening, Mr. Way." Mr. Sanderson turned back to his desk. Gerard stood there, stunned. Sanderson had dismissed him like he was an irritating student and not a fellow teacher. When Gerard didn’t move, Sanderson flapped a hand at him to shoo him away.

Gerard huffed as he retreated down the hall, dodging overactive students and swinging backpacks. He'd find a musician with or without Sanderson's help. And shit! He also had to figure out how to tie-dye t-shirts. 

Instead of going back to the art room, he went to the library and spent about ten minutes trying to login to a computer before giving up. Two minutes at the card catalogue and he was pointed in the direction of an entire shelf of books dedicated to textiles in the arts and crafts section. He found a book on batik and tie-dying techniques and flipped through it. It didn't look too complicated. 

Armed with a list of supplies, he left the school and headed to the Walmart in Newark. There he picked up thick elastic bands, a couple of buckets, and an array of Rite dyes. He was still stewing about Sanderson's unwillingness to help him out and only remembered the white t-shirts on his way to the cash. As he waited in line, he mulled it over and decided to stop by the local college and see if there were any students there willing to help out for a few bucks.

Talking to a college professor was easier than talking to Sanderson. He was delighted with the idea of a student helping out the local art school and even had someone in mind. He offered to walk Gerard to the piano suites where they’d likely find him practicing. 

They rounded the corner to a long corridor of closed doors. Further down, two students were in a heated conversation, shouting back and forth. The taller, beefier of the two, seized the smaller guy by the arm and pushed him until his back hit the wall. Gerard wanted to shout out for them to stop but his voice caught in his throat. He choked on his breath and froze.

The guy pinned to the wall saw them coming and pointedly called out, “Hi, Professor Atkins!” Beefcake released him the moment he realized there were witnesses to whatever the fuck was going on. He whispered something, gave the guy another shove and then stalked down the hall towards them. Gerard flinched when he went by but glared right back, refusing to be intimidated. 

“Brendon! Just the student I was looking for.”

The professor acted like nothing had happened and Gerard’s stomach sank. He had firsthand experience with teachers turning a blind eye to crap like that. Brendon seemed fine and before Gerard knew it, he was shaking Gerard’s hand and Professor Atkins was introducing them. He explained everything as Gerard collected his thoughts.

When the professor left them alone, Gerard had to ask, “Are you all right? Did that guy hurt you?”

“Nah, I’m fine. That was my roommate.” Brendon gave him an awkward shrug. “He’s kind of a dick.”

“He was being violent.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Brendon forced out a laugh and flashed him a wan smile. “My turn to buy toilet paper and I guess I forgot.”

Gerard wasn’t satisfied with his flippant answer but he let it go. It’s not like this kid was going to open up to a complete stranger. They got down to business and Brendon gleefully agreed to visit Gerard’s class. He said he was stoked, especially after Gerard told him he'd get paid for his efforts. Gerard left him with some forms to fill out and a promise that he’d see him later in the week.

*

The tie-dying project was a success. A few keen students spent their lunch hour helping him dye the t-shirts. One of the shyer girls from class had a talent for creating cool patterns so Gerard suggested they do it again some time. It would be a great fundraiser if he could get kids to wear them. They left them hanging to dry and on Thursday, Gerard gathered them up and distributed them to his drama students.

It warmed Gerard's heart to see his little multi-coloured hippies dancing around the drama room, even if they pretended to hate every minute of it. Things turned around when Brendon arrived. One of the pushier kids offered him a shirt and his eyes lit up. He promptly put it on and then dazzled them with his musical talents, banging out tune after tune on the classroom’s old piano.

No question, they had their musician for the play.

That night, he had to go to a lawyer's office to sign some papers. Afterwards, he was officially handed the keys to his grandmother's house, even though he'd had a set on his Star Wars keychain since he was eleven. He went alone. He wanted to be in and out quickly and not dwell on the way his heart clenched and that he had to fight back tears as he signed his name across the bottom of the deed.

By the end of the week, he arrived home from work haggard and incapable of forming proper sentences. Right away his mom started fussing over him, insisting they all have dinner together. It was her not-so-discreet way of checking in with him but he couldn’t complain. 

While she cooked, he sat at the dining table with a coffee and some school work. Everyone teased him about teaching art and drama so he wouldn't have any marking to do but he had a stack of assignments to grade and essays to read that proved otherwise.

When the food was ready the four of them sat together for the first time all week. His mom had gone all out baking some weird African chickpea dish. She’d probably been planning it all week. When she flashed Gerard a look that said she knew he hadn't been eating enough, Gerard filled his plate even though he knew he wouldn’t finish it. Mikey kicked him under the table and shot him a knowing look.

"Mikey, dear," his mom said, not missing a thing. "Who's that girl you've been bringing home?"

"What girl?" Mikey’s face was expressionless.

"You must know her name." She tutted. "She's been over three times this week. I’ve seen her pink running shoes in the hall.”

“What’s wrong with me or Gee wearing pink Chucks? Gee likes sparkly things.” 

“They were too small to fit either of you.”

“Maybe Gee had someone over.” Mikey nodded at Gerard who promptly put up his hands and shook his head protesting, “Leave me outta this.”

“Your brother has been working himself ragged all week. He barely eats, let alone has time for a social life.”

"Fine. Chill out.” Mikey huffed. “She didn't sleep over or anything. She's just a friend. How come I’m getting the third degree?”

“Is it a crime to want to know what’s going on with my children?”

“It’s not a biggie, okay?” Mikey frowned and poked at his chickpeas. “Leave it alone.”

Mikey was protesting too much. Gerard couldn't remember the last time Mikey had seen the same girl more than once, not since Vickie. And if this new girl was just a friend, Mikey wouldn’t be acting so suspicious. It piqued Gerard’s curiosity and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Since when is having a girl over a secret? How come you never told me?”

Mikey looked betrayed. He met Gerard's eyes and pointedly said, "So, Gee, you give Frank a call yet?"

"Boys," his dad scolded, at the same time his mom asked, "Who's Frank?"

"What?" Mikey put a hand to his heart in a mock of shock. "You mean you haven't told mom about Frank?”

“You’re a traitor," Gerard grumbled, kicking Mikey under the table. “He’s just some guy I met at a party. That’s all.”

“Honey, you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” his mom said in that voice that meant the opposite. She looked at him with big eyes that said she was hurt he was keeping things from her.

Gerard rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“They went out on a date,” Mikey said.

"It wasn't a date," he told his mom. "I kind of stood him up and then never called him back so I don't know if I’m even gonna see him again. It was weeks ago. He’s probably forgotten about me by now.”

“You haven’t talked to him yet?” Mikey sounded sad. “He likes you. You should call him.”

The conversation veered dangerously close to the day Gerard didn't want to think about so he started yapping about tie-dye Thursday. His parents were amused and Mikey complimented Gerard on his ingenuity.

Of course, Frank was on his mind after dinner but instead of calling him, Gerard did some sketching and thought some more about his grandmother's house. His house. The idea of going inside didn't scare him as much anymore but the thought of seeing her things there without her was still upsetting. He knew eventually it would have to be done. He didn't want his parents and Mikey forced to take care of everything for him. This was something he had to deal with himself.

When his hand stopped skimming the page, he realized he'd drawn a vague figure with tattoos down his arms. He vowed to call Frank by the end of the weekend, even if it was to turn him down.

*

Saturday morning, Gerard stuck to his routine—coffee, breakfast and vacuuming with Morrissey caterwauling through his headphones. Then he sucked up his nerve and drove to his grandmother’s house. 

He sat inside the car for about an hour, chain-smoking and inspecting the exterior. The house was in the Forest Hill area, less than ten minutes away from his parents in Belleville. His grandparents had bought it well before his mom was born and she’d grown up there. It was a nice, safe neighbourhood Gerard could never afford otherwise. Not on a teacher’s salary with virtually no savings. Living there would also cut his commute time to school in half.

He sighed and peered down the street. Next to the larger and freshly renovated houses on the block, it looked a little sad and tired. Half the shrubs were overgrown and the rest bare, leaves littering the lawn. He hadn’t raked in a while. There were so many frigging trees that as soon as you’d cleared up the back, the front would be littered with leaves again. Jesus, if he moved in he’d have to worry about keeping the yard looking nice and the driveway shovelled in the winter. Fucking Forest Hill Community Association would come after him if he didn’t.

He put out his smoke and made his way to the garage in the back. It took a few minutes to find the key and get the lock open as his hands were shaking, a combination of nerves and the chill in the air. It smelled musty and he sneezed in the dark before he could flick the light on. He grabbed the least-rusty rake and went to work cleaning up the leaves in the front yard.

It took no time at all. For those brief moments, he was simply doing chores for his grandmother. When he returned the rake to the garage his chest swelled with the weight of finality. He let the emotions wash over him, acknowledging each one before putting it to the side. When he summoned the courage, he entered through the front door—something he hadn't done for years and years—hoping a different perspective would help.

It was still a punch to the gut. More than anything it was the silence that disturbed him. If he called out, no one would answer. Like how he’d found her there on her bedroom floor. The night played out in his mind over and over. He walked around downstairs and everywhere he looked, he saw her.

A stack of books sat on the piano bench. The library books she’d never read. He drew them to his aching chest and choked out a stream of tears. He sunk on the sofa and cried, trying to accept that she was gone. Eventually, his tears thinned out and he felt a bit better. He wiped his face on his sleeve and forced himself to think about moving in and what it would mean. 

To his surprise, the decision came easy; no way could he give up her house. It felt more like home than his parents’ place did. The thought of selling it and another family living there felt so wrong. He knew he had to hold onto the house as long as he could afford it. 

While it hadn’t been neglected, it did need some work. Just last year some wiring had been replaced in the kitchen. His dad had a contractor come by and once they got in the walls the issues multiplied. It was an older house and therefore only a matter of time. With his income, he could probably swing the property tax and utilities, especially if he got Mikey to chip in and move in with him. Surely his parents would help if anything major came up and his dad would be in his glory crunching numbers or whatever magical accounting things he did.

When he peered up the stairs there was nothing but darkness. He couldn’t face going up there. He’d have to eventually, but not today. Today was about baby steps. At this point he was dehydrated from all the crying, so he went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

The stench hit him the instant he swung open the door. Something rotten. He pinpointed the fruit bowl and disposed of its contents, cracking a window to air the room out. Looking around he thought, yeah, he could live there. No one had been in the house since the incident nearly two weeks ago, so he went through the fridge and pulled out everything past its expiry date. Then he checked the drawers in case a family of mice had decided to move in. When he opened the cupboard above the fridge, he got a shock that had him snapping his hand back like something had bitten him.

His grandmother had never been a drinker. After Gerard had gone through recovery she made a point of never having alcohol in the house. But there was a bottle of whiskey up there, tucked in the corner and covered in dust. Full to the brim, never opened. She couldn’t have known it was there.

Gerard sucked in a breath. Don’t panic. His heart rate accelerated and his body flushed warm with heat. He told himself to shut the cupboard and leave it there until someone else came to clean out the house. But it would still be there. He would know and since he was his little secret, he could drink any time he liked and no one would be the wiser.

He chewed on a nail and considered it. He should throw it out—the entire bottle. Dump it in the trash bag with all the rotten fruit and spoiled milk, and toss it to the curb. Then it would be gone forever.

Creeping forward, he reached out and slid his fingers around the neck of the bottle. It was warm, but it would quench his thirst to forget. A smooth burn as he swallowed it down. He grabbed it, the liquid sloshing from side to side.

When he couldn't bring himself to stick it in the garbage, he sat on the kitchen floor. He put the bottle in front of him and attempted to stare it down. If he took a drink—one single drink—no one would know. Pour the rest out in the sink and pretend like it never happened. Or he could drink some and leave it in the cupboard. It would be there for him while he dealt with the house, and then when everything was okay he could throw it out. Could he handle the guilt?

He swallowed hard and licked his lips in anticipation, cracking the seal and unscrewing the lid. The smell hit him and he wavered, lightheaded with joy. When he raised the bottle to his lips, he hesitated and thought about his grandmother watching him right now. He didn’t know about ghosts or the afterlife but her spirit would be with him forever. She would be so disappointed in him. She’d never say it but he’d see it in her expression. Her pinched frown and sad eyes. It hurt and the shame of it hit him like a blow to the chest.

The bottle clunked to the floor, liquid sloshing over his fingers.

Quickly, before he could lose his will, he scrambled up from the floor and poured it down the drain. He flipped on the tap to water-down the smell and cleanse his hands. He left it running cold as he first rinsed out the bottle and then splashed water on his face. It was freezing but it snapped his mind back into place. What the hell was he thinking?

He chucked the bottle in the trash bag, tied it up and left it by the side of the house before he drove away. 

When he got home, Mikey was lounging in the living room. Probably waiting for Gerard to have a breakdown or something.

All he said was, "Where have you been?" and Gerard burst into tears. He confessed that he had been to the house and Mikey hugged him, gently scolding him for going alone. Gerard didn't tell him about the whiskey—God knows, he gave Mikey enough to worry about. 

When Gerard had calmed down, he wiped his face. “I’m keeping the house.”

"Are you sure?"

Gerard nodded, confident with his decision. "I wanna live there. Will you move in with me?”

"Yeah, yeah, of course, I will.”

Gerard let out a breath as he took off his jacket. He retreated to his room and hit the button on his answering machine because it was flashing with new messages. Friends had been calling with their condolences so he half-listened and lit up a smoke. The last one was from Frank. He spoke quickly like he was nervous and mentioned something about going on tour. Gerard sat up and pawed through the junk on his nightstand until he found the scrap of paper with Frank’s number on it. It was now or never.


	8. Looking For Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: mentions of past thoughts of suicide, description of witnessing September 11 attacks.

Gerard clenched a scrap of paper in his hand, heart pitter-pattering like he’d had too much coffee. He closed his eyes and pulled from his cigarette, letting the rush of calm wash over him. He would not have a panic attack over a frigging piece of paper. It was just a phone number. 

He stuck his smoke in his mouth as he white-knuckled the cordless and punched in Frank’s number. When it rang and rang and rang he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. The voice mail clicked on—Frank’s mom in a polite tone asking the caller to ‘please leave a message and God bless’. In a panic, Gerard hung up. Of course, Frank had better things to do on a Saturday afternoon than sit around waiting for Gerard to call him back. 

Wait. That was stupid. He should have left a message. Taking a breath, he dialled again. His rehearsed message went down the toilet when Frank picked up with a gruff, “Hello?”

“Um, hi Frank. It’s Gerard.” Gerard flicked ash off his cigarette before it could land on the bedspread. He took another drag.

“Gerard! Hi!” Frank said, enthusiasm cranked up to eleven. “Wow! Hi! I wasn’t sure if you’d call.”

“Yeah, um.” Gerard’s stomach fluttered and he laughed nervously. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Don’t worry about it. Can you hang on a sec?” 

“Uh-huh.” Gerard stubbed out his smoke and laid down on his bed. He listened to Frank stomp around, cursing and making a clatter. A crackle of feedback filtered through the phone. Frank stomped back, breathing heavily.

“Hey, I’m back. I have all my gear in the living room. My mom’s at work and the bitchy neighbours on the left are out so I thought I’d take advantage and make a lot of noise. ”

“What about the neighbours on the right?”

“They’re pretty old. They’ve never complained so I figure they’re half-deaf and don’t even notice.” A significant silence fell over them. Frank cleared his throat. “How are you?”

“Uh, I’m all right, all things considered.” Gerard hesitated, picking at a thread on jeans before he continued, “My grandmother died.”

“Oh, geez. I’m sorry. Did your brother tell you I called? He didn’t say much. Enough to get me to stop harassing you. I shouldn’t have called so many times. Mikey promised he’d delete all the messages I left,” Frank said in a panicked voice. “He did erase them, right?” 

“Yeah, he did. I’m really sorry I ditched you. I didn’t mean to. I was a zombie for a few days and then my relatives were here for the funeral and yeah, a bunch of stuff happened.”

“Hey, no—I know you didn’t ditch me,” Frank said. “I’m glad you called me back though.”

Gerard smiled and his stomach went all fluttery again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Frank said confidently. “You owe me a second date.”

“First date,” Gerard corrected.

“Definitely the second date.”

“What are you wearing?” Gerard teased. “We can have that date right now.”

“Seriously?” Frank said. “You think I’m that cheap of a date?”

“Why not?” Gerard was glad Frank couldn’t see the grin splitting his face. He was only half kidding. Part of him wanted to see how far he could take it before Frank hung up on him.

“Because, well… phone sex is not a date,” Frank answered. “It doesn’t count.”

“That’s not a ‘no’.”

Frank snorted into the phone. Lightly, he said, “And here I was thinking you’re the kinda guy who doesn’t even kiss on the first date.”

“Where’d you get that—oh, right.” Gerard made a pained face as he remembered giving Frank the brush off when he’d tried to make a move. “For the record, I deeply regret that. I’ve lost sleep regretting that.”

Frank chuckled. “Don’t worry—you’ll have a second chance on our second date.”

Gerard’s smile deflated into a frown. “Yeah, about that. I have to tell you something first. It might change your mind.”

“Is this where you tell me you like country music?”

“Not really.”

“Not really? What d’you mean by that? Because, man, it’s not a deal-breaker but that shit needs a warning. I need to know what I’m working with here.”

“I’m not gonna lie—I’ll dance to anything. Country, electronic, hip-hop… adult contemporary.”

“Ugh, Gerard—you’re killing me here!” Frank moaned dramatically. “I knew about the top forty—I saw you dancing at the party.”

“You saw that?” Gerard scrunched his face up and groaned. “You never said.”

“I was trying not to be creepy about it. You really know how to shake that ass.”

Gerard huffed. At least Frank couldn’t see the flush tainting his cheeks. Frank had totally side-tracked him. “Okay. Frank. Stop flirting and listen. This is important. Remember at the bar, when I told you I couldn’t drink because I was on medication?”

“Uh-huh,” Frank said slowly.

“I’m not on antibiotics—I lied about that.” Gerard bit a nail and forced the words out. “I don’t drink, like, ever… I have a problem with alcohol. I was pretty messed up for a while.”

“Oh.” Frank sounded surprised.

When Frank didn’t say anything else, Gerard continued, “Is that, uh…” he stammered, his stomach in knots, “Is that an issue for you? I’ve been clean and sober for nearly three years.” 

“Three years?" Frank whistled. "That’s pretty good, right?”

“Yeah, it’s good.” Gerard chewed on a hangnail. “It’s still hard though.”

“Is it just booze or other stuff?… Or—sorry, I’m being nosy.”

“No, that’s okay.” Gerard relaxed. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t want to talk about it. I can’t touch anything. At my worst, I was mixing booze with all sorts of painkillers and depressants. Whatever I could get my hands on. Like you and no fun foods? Any drug that makes me feel good is bad news. I’m a total bore at parties,” Gerard added, trying to lighten the mood.

“That’s not true.”

“You’re right. I don’t go to parties.”

“Gerard. We met at a party.”

“Why do you think I was so miserable? That was my first party in three years, sober.” Gerard let out an awkward laugh. “I’m really not a party guy. I used to drink by myself. My best friends were Valium and Oxy. We’d party in my bedroom. Alone.”

“Sounds depressing.”

“It was. Hence the cycle—get fucked up, get depressed because I was fucked up, get fucked up again to numb the depression.”

“So, what made you stop? Did you do something horrible or did your family stage an intervention? How bad did it get?”

“I guess I hit rock bottom like people do.” Gerard sighed. “I wanted to die. Or at least, I thought I did. I thought about all sorts of awful things until it nearly happened. Then I realized I didn’t want it.”

“What happened?”

“I was kind of there, watching when the towers went down on September eleventh. It was the wake-up call I needed. I knew something had to change. I mean, I’m sure tons of people had the same epiphany that day. I can’t imagine anyone in the vicinity of the city wasn’t affected in some life-altering sort of way.”

“I hear that. I dropped out of college.”

“You did?” 

“I was doing a business program at Rutgers and I fucking hated it. I wanted to focus on the band but my mom had pressured me. After that day, I never went back.”

Gerard chuckled. “I cannot imagine you in a Gucci suit strutting down Wall Street.”

“A nine-to-five would be the death of me,” Frank said. “I remember that day vividly. My mom and I spent the whole day on the couch in front of the TV. She let me smoke in the living room because she didn’t want me to go outside.” 

Gerard exhaled. “I was on the PATH train headed to the World Trade Center when it all went to hell. I should have been there already but for some reason, the universe spared me that day.”

“No shit?” Frank exclaimed. “What happened?”

“I was working for this snobby art gallery in Chelsea. I was fucked up most the time—drinking, popping pills—taking whatever to get me through the day. I couldn’t function without them. They should have fired me but I was an intern so it’s not like they were paying me. I was always late or sick and some days I wouldn’t show up at all. Every day I commuted into the city to keep up the pretence with my family, but instead of going to work I’d wander around, hit up some bars, get fucked up. Anyway, that day I was supposed to pick up some work-in-progress by some up-and-coming douchebag at the Cultural office in the North Tower, but like always, I was late for the appointment.”

“I was on my way there when the explosions started. The train stopped right in its tracks and we sat there forever. Everyone was in shock. People were staring out the windows, freaking out, calling their families. The Towers caught fire and collapsed right in front of us. It didn’t seem real—it looked like a movie. Manhattan was black and burning and the whole island was surrounded in smoke. The train eventually reversed back to Hoboken. I went outside and it felt like the end of the world. I was in shock—everyone was in shock—and for a long time, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t shake the thought that I was meant to be there. I should have died.” Gerard finished quietly.

“But you didn’t.”

“Nope. I went home and my mom was crying because she didn’t know if I’d gone into the city or not. At that moment, I realized I had two choices: give up and just kill myself already or admit that I had a problem. I was so unhappy. My life was a waste. The only option was to do something meaningful instead. No more booze, no more drugs and no more lying.”

“Fu-uuck. I can’t imagine. That must have been so hard.”

“You know, once I made the decision and told my family the truth, it got easier. The first year was horrible, but I didn’t want to disappoint them. I did AA for a year. I never accepted the whole ‘surrender yourself to God’ thing, but I still go to meetings once in a while. I still have bad days.”

“But you beat it. You turned it around.”

“I wouldn’t say I beat it. It’s still a battle. Today was a bad day, actually,” Gerard admitted and then told Frank about his encounter with the whiskey at his grandmother’s house. The words tumbled out before he could think too much about it. “It’s been three years and yet today all I could think about was how easy it would be to ruin that. I don’t want anyone else to suffer if I slip.” 

“But you didn’t give in,” Frank said. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. Everyone has their bullshit.”

“I have loads. I’m not sure I’m prepared to dump that on anyone.”

“So, what are you saying? You don’t even wanna go out on another date?”

Gerard sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not. I’m not afraid of you. If you’re not interested, that’s one thing. But if you’re worried because hypothetically you might screw up someday, then who cares? I might screw up too. Everybody hurts each other. It’s human nature. If dating scares you—join the club.” 

“Shaun said I’m not your type,” Gerard blurted out. “When I dropped you off at Tim’s he saw us and he told me I wasn’t your type and that you don’t need my drama in your life. He might be right.”

Frank cracked up. “Shaun is hardly a reliable barometer of who is and isn’t my type. He tried to set me up with his mom’s BFF. She had wrinkles and tan lines in places a middle-aged woman shouldn’t be showing off to strangers.” Frank blew out a long breath through his nose and quietly added, “Okay, well, since we’re being all honest here, you should know that I’ve never dated a guy before. Maybe that’s what Shaun meant.”

It was a surprise. He seemed comfortable flirting like it was second nature, so Gerard wondered about his follow-through. “Have you been with a man before or is this an experiment for you?”

“I’ve messed around, yeah. Not as much as you maybe, but enough to know I’m into it.”

“As much as me?” Gerard said flatly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not”—Frank made a frustrated noise—“I don’t mean it like that, like you’re easy or something. I don’t know how many people you’ve been with.”

“You’re right, you don’t.” Gerard clenched the phone tight and frowned. “Does that matter to you?”

“No,” Frank said forcefully. “I just meant you have more experience. You seem more comfortable with all that stuff… sex, relationships… y’know.” Frank huffed when Gerard didn’t respond because his mind was preoccupied wondering if Frank thought he was a slut. “Gerard, I’m not trying to be shitty. I’m trying to be honest. Truth is, the most significant relationship I’ve ever had is with my guitar.”

Gerard sighed and took a breath. “Okay. I’m sorry—I get it. I haven’t had much luck with relationships either. Dating in high school was hopeless and when I got to art school it was like a whole new world opened up. It was more about experimenting and figuring out what I liked rather than meeting someone. I was also fucked up a lot—too selfish to be serious about another person. And when I stopped, I got into a relationship too quickly—fell off the wagon and had to start all over again. Since then, I’ve been focussed on getting my life back together. I’m not sure I have time for anyone else.”

“So, why’d you call me back? You could have just left it, and eventually I would have taken the hint.”

“I like you. And I’m not a total dick.”

“You called me back because you’re a nice guy. I think that proves my point.”

“Yeah, well, I’m scared, too.”

“What are you scared of?”

“Hurting you, you hurting me, getting depressed, drinking again, scaring my family,” Gerard said. “I could go on and on, but that’s what I pay my psychiatrist for,” Gerard added lightly. 

“So, we take it slow,” Frank said. “I’m asking for one date, not a Hallmark movie and before you make a smartass comment—my mom watches that shit, not me.”

“Okay,” Gerard said with a smile.

“Is that a yes? I promise we won’t go to a bar. I’m sorry I asked you to our show. What a shitty first date.”

“I wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t think I could handle it. I wanted to see you play. It’s not the best environment but I can be around people drinking and not lose my shit or anything.”

“Does it bother you that I drink? Cause I spend a lot of time in clubs with the band and there’s no way around that.”

“I don't love being in bars but I would never ask you not to,” Gerard said. “I might not kiss you if you were drinking but that’s up to you.”

Frank chuckled. “So, kissing’s on the table now, is it?”

“Maybe,” Gerard teased. “It depends on what you’re planning for our second date.”

“Ha! It is a second date then.”

“Yeah, okay—call it what you want.”

“Second date it is,” Frank said firmly. “But here’s the bad news—the whole reason I called. We’re leaving tomorrow morning for a bunch of gigs and we won’t be back until mid-December.”

As Gerard was hit with a wave of disappointment, he reminded himself that it would give him more time to process the rest of the changes in his life before throwing Frank into the mix. By then, he’d have a house. He could invite Frank over to his own place instead of his bedroom in his parents’ basement like some sort of troll.

They switched to lighter topics and spent another hour on the phone. Gerard hung up feeling giddy. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel but he was excited. And relieved. Frank hadn’t been put off at all. Gerard’s confession had barely ruffled his feathers. Maybe he was ready to date again.

He tried not to spend the next few weeks second-guessing himself and obsessing over his conversation with Frank. He spent a bit of time thinking up reasons Frank might change his mind but that fizzled away after Frank made an effort to call him from the road. If anything, Frank was the one worried that Gerard would cancel on him—he’d already called him twice, from downtown Philly and a gas station somewhere in Georgia. The calls had been brief but stirred something in Gerard that he wanted to hold onto instead of run from.

Gerard felt pretty good and wanted to keep it that way.

*

After the showdown with the whiskey bottle at his grandmother’s house, he’d taken Brian’s advice and gone to an AA meeting. One thing remained constant: no matter how shitty Gerard felt going into a meeting, he always felt a little better afterwards.

He had to go all the way out to Morristown to find a Tuesday night meeting. It was a fairly large group and although it was open to anyone, addict or not, he felt comfortable there. There was usually a speaker and after the discussion, people would hang around for lukewarm coffee and more casual chit-chat. An ear to listen without prejudice. No freaking out when he admitted how much he wanted a drink because everyone in the room understood what he was going through.

This was his second time at this particular meeting. He got the shock of the century when he saw who was sitting up in the second row. He’d cut off his hair—once long, dark and unkempt, now short and blonde—but Gerard recognized the curve of his jaw and the slope of his back beneath a garish Hawaiian shirt. He couldn’t believe the man who’d sworn he’d live and die in black was wearing a button-up covered in tacky orange and blue flowers.

Gerard’s first instinct was to leave but he knew that was childish and cowardly. Instead, he sat in the last row, staring at the back of his head and wondering how long he’d been sober for this time.

The meeting started and Gerard listened to the speaker instead of getting lost in the past. A middle-aged woman told her story about how drinking to be the life the party in her college years, turned into a life-long habit. In her youth, drinking all night and working all day was easy. She became a lawyer, had a family and yet she kept drinking. When the blackouts started, she chose booze over her family. Rock bottom for her was losing everything. With no home, no money and no family who would take her in, she went to her first AA meeting.

She talked about a relapse and Gerard thought about his. The way he’d been so sure he could drink socially if had someone on his side who understood him. How he believed a relationship would be enough to save him. When the floor opened and others took their turn to speak, Gerard stood up and shared those thoughts with the group.

All eyes were upon him and when they moved on to someone else, Gerard caught the bug-eyed stare from the second row. It put him on edge for the rest of the meeting, wilting under the gaze of someone he’d tried to forget. Afterwards, he made a beeline for Gerard, swift like he could read Gerard’s mind and knew he’d have to be quick to catch him. Gerard got up to stretch his legs and stuffed his hands in his pockets, making no move to escape.

“That was heavy, Gerard. Jesus H!” Bert bounded towards him, lunging like he was going in for a hug. To put him off, Gerard hunched his shoulders and took a step back, putting a chair between them. “Hi, Bert.”

“Wow—this is so crazy.” Bert was beaming. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, what do you think?” Gerard gave him a weird look.

“Oh, yeah, right. I know that. Been clean and sober myself for nearly a year.”

“That’s great. Good for you.” Gerard smiled to hide his reaction. Jesus fucking Christ. If he’d stayed with Bert all those years he’d definitely be six feet under right now. “Two years and nine months, for me.”

“Fuckin’ A, dude.” Bert flashed him a genuine smile. “I’m so glad you’re doing good. Things are good, right?”

They shot the shit like they were old college buddies, trading enthusiastic ‘great!’s back and forth. Somehow Bert had met a surfer and was living in on the West coast. He was back in town for a couple of weeks to visit his parents for Thanksgiving. He had to admit, Bert looked great—tan and healthy and full of smiles. Even his hair was lighter like he’d rid himself of everything that had been dragging him down. 

Gerard kept the conversation light, too. Didn’t mention losing his grandmother or how much he still struggled with everything. Talking to Bert was a little much, actually. It was nice to see him doing so well but Gerard wasn’t in the mood for a trip down memory lane. Especially that one.

“It’s been great seeing you but I have to get going.”

“Wait, wait.” Bert stepped closer and clasped Gerard’s hands between his own. “I know there was a lot of bullshit between us back then but I want you to know that I was in love with you. I’ve thought about it a lot and I can’t remember if I ever told you that. That I was in love with you.” And oh, Jesus, he was giving Gerard a look like it was still true and he was too surprised to pull away. His stomach plummeted and he wanted to throw up, but that was never a good time.

“Okay,” Gerard said dumbly, eyes like saucers. “Thanks, I guess.”

Bert gave him a funny look and then honked out a laugh. Before Gerard could react, Bert had him in a bear hug. Gerard stood there awkwardly and let him. He’d never loved Bert. Sure, for a brief moment he’d confused his saviour complex (thanks, Brian) with lust, but even back then he’d been aware of his delusions. The thing with Bert was a distraction from getting himself better. He knew that before it had even ended. Christ, if he was honest, part of him knew before it had even started. Their relationship was an excuse to start drinking again. And he loved to drink.

But in love with Bert? Fuck. He didn’t even really like him all that much. All they did was talk about getting fucked up until they both broke down and started drinking again. What the hell was Bert talking about?

He squirmed out of Bert’s hold. “I’m sorry, I really have to go.”

“Okay, okay.” Bert pulled a cellphone out of his pocket. “Gimme your number. I’m here till the end of the week. We can grab coffee or something. For old times sake?”

“Um.” Gerard messed with his hair as his eyes skirted around the room helplessly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m not gonna bite.” Bert laughed and wiggled his fingers in Gerard’s face. “I told ya, I shacked up with a surfer. He’s real nice. Taught me how to shuck clams and everything.”

Gerard looked him in the eye one last time. He knew that face but by God, he was a complete stranger to him. Gerard mumbled an apology and got the hell out of there. He didn’t even hang around to smoke with the others, just hurried to his car and drove away, hands shaking at the wheel.

As he got further away he was able to shake it off. It had come as a surprise. That Bert thought he’d been in love with Gerard was totally crazy. Maybe Bert wasn’t doing as well as he appeared. He’d have to save that conversation for Brian. Mikey would flip his shit and Frank did not need to hear that section of Gerard’s backstory. It was in the past. 

*

Gerard was on his hands and knees. Not in a good way. He peered under his bed and was caught off guard by a violent sneeze. Several in succession had him cursing under his breath. Dust be damned, he retrieved his markers and several pairs of underwear and crawled out.

His room was a disaster. Boxes everywhere. Closet emptied onto the floor with piles of art supplies all over the room. Adding the markers to their set, he rubbed a hand through his hair and scanned the room. Where the hell did he put his smokes?

Overwhelmed, he turned circles, indecisively picking things up and putting them down again. A stack of books toppled over as he searched his bedside table. He wanted to cry. He couldn’t do this.

He missed the sound of feet on the stairs and suddenly, Mikey was picking his way through the heaps of stuff on the carpet. Gerard gave him a desperate look. “I can’t find my cigarettes.”

“Gee, sit down.” Mikey steered Gerard towards his bed and forced him to sit. “Take this.” Mikey handed him a big box. “Pretend you’re going away for a week and you need stuff for work. Put in all in here—clothes, art stuff, whatever. Don’t forget your meds. Dad and I are going out for more boxes but when we get back, we'll help you with the rest.”

"What if I forget something?"

“Oh my God, Gerard, we’re moving five minutes away. It’s Newark, not the moon.” Mikey was being overdramatic but Gerard brushed it off. He knew he was freaking out over nothing. “And it's not like mom's gonna turn your bedroom into a craft room or anything."

“She might move her dolls in here.” Gerard shuddered.

“She’s not gonna move her dolls in here.” Mikey sighed like the long-suffering brother he was.

“Okay.” Gerard set the box down and sighed. “Thanks, Mikey.”

“Oh, and one more.” He passed Gerard another box. “Put all your weird shit—anything you don’t want mom and dad—in here.”

Gerard scowled. “What weird shit?”

“Porn, sexy underwear, fetish stuff, I dunno—whatever—I don’t want to know. In there,” he said pointing at the box. “Then tape it up and label it ‘Gerard’s Journals’ or something. No one would dare open that.” 

Gerard threw a pillow at Mikey’s head on his way out but heeded his advice. In the box went his porn mags and a bunch of other personal stuff. For good measure, he tossed a couple of old journals on top before sealing it up.

Packing hit him harder than he had imagined. A lot of his belongings were either donated or trashed and it was fucking traumatic. He'd spent his entire life in that house and in a week he'd be moved out completely.

It didn't help that his mom kept crying and hugging him because her 'babies were leaving'. But it was time. He and Mikey were adults. Gerard needed independence and Mikey wanted to bring girls home without his mom making disappointed faces at him over the breakfast table.

At least his mom had volunteered to do the worst job: dealing with the contents of his grandmother's house. She had enlisted the extended family to help and the only caveat was that the attic with all of her artwork and supplies was off-limits.

Gerard was still searching for his cigarettes when his phone rang. The cordless sat in its cradle—thank God. He snatched it up and shoved stuff to one side of his bed so he could sit down. He was thrilled to hear Frank’s voice and immediately started grumbling about the pain and torture of packing. Frank made sympathetic noises in response causing Gerard’s stomach to flutter. He leaned against the headboard and smiled.

"When's the big day?" Frank asked.

“Day after Thanksgiving. We're not doing a big family dinner this year. It’s too weird without Grams here and everyone's still salty about me getting the house. I’m not in the mood to fight with my relatives. Usually, they just make fun of me because I’m a vegetarian and taunt me with their plates of turkey. It’s a real fun time.”

“That sucks. Your brother do that too?”

“No, no. Not him or my parents. My mom always brings a Tofurkey or makes a lentil loaf. She’s always going on and on about me not getting enough protein.”

“Tell me about it!” Frank barked out a laugh. “My mom too! She thinks I’ll wither and die if I go a day without eating a can of beans. Whenever I call her, the first thing she asks is about what I’m eating. Like it’s so easy to find a square meal on the road. I’m so happy to be away for it this year. She and my dad love to argue over where I’m spending holidays, like I don’t even have a choice. It’s stupid because my mom works practically every holiday anyway. They just like to fight.”

“Where does your mom work?”

“She’s a nurse at St. Michael’s. Y’know, the hospital near Rutgers?”

“Oh, yeah, wow.” Gerard cringed at the mention of the hospital and quickly recovered. “Uh, bet that came in handy with all your… pneumonia and herpes and stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess. Saved me trips to the hospital. She’s a little invasive and a lot overbearing when it comes to my health though. Some things a mother does not need to know.”

Gerard laughed in agreement and then chewed on a nail. “What about your dad?”

“He lives in Trenton with his girlfriend. She’d okay, I guess. Don’t know her too well.” 

A silence stretched between them and Gerard realized that wherever Frank was, for once, it was quiet. No traffic, no horns honking, no loud voices or wind blowing across the receiver. It was also the middle of the afternoon.

“Where are you?” 

“Jacksonville. We got a hotel. The rest of the guys went out for a full southern meal, so I have the room to myself for a while. The whole of downtown smells like coffee, so naturally, I thought of you.”

“You didn't want to go with them?” Gerard stretched out on his back, settling into the mattress.

“No way—it's hot as balls outside,” Frank said. “And it’s nice to be alone.” 

“What do you usually do when you have a hotel room to yourself?”

“Oh, geez—shower for as long as I want, get a whole bed to myself, watch whatever I want on tv, read in peace... This is literally the first time I’ve had alone since we left.”

“Jerk off?”

“Duh.” Frank let out a nervous laugh.

“Do you ever think about me when you do it?”

Frank hesitated and then said, “Sometimes.” Gerard hummed in response and Frank stuttered, “Uh, was that an invitation?”

“Huh, maybe.” Gerard slid his hand under his shirt and rubbed his belly. “Tell me more.”

“I thought you were busy packing?”

“I’ve been working all morning. I need a break or a distraction. Unless you’re still hung up on”—Gerard did a nasally impression of Frank—“ _Phone sex is not a date?_ ”

“Well… this isn’t a date,” Frank replied. “Are you alone?”

“Yep, all alone,” Gerard said. “And kind of horny.”

Frank barked out a laugh. For a long moment, Gerard listened to Frank’s soft breathing down the line. Then, in a lowered voice, Frank said, “Are you serious right now?”

“If you want to.” Gerard stilled his hand on his stomach, fingertips resting on the band of his briefs. Waiting.

“Uh, okay, but I’m not good at this. Talking sexy or whatever.”

“I like talking to you. Your voice turns me on. It doesn’t have to be sexy. I could probably get off with you reading to me from one of your truckstop paperbacks. No pressure though.”

Frank let out a heavy breath. “I have thought about you when I’ve—you know. To answer your question.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left.” Gerard gave his limbs a good stretch and his cock a thorough squeeze. “I’ve thought about you jerking off and thinking about me. Did you get dressed after your shower? Or are you still naked?”

“I’m, um, wearing boxers,” Frank stammered. “What are you wearing?”

With a lazy smile, Gerard sat up and told Frank he was removing his t-shirt and jeans. He quickly undressed and laid back down, skin buzzing. Anticipation stirred in his groin. “Black briefs. That’s it. Fuck, Frank—I’m turned on already.” Gerard rubbed his dick again. “Thinking about you laying there all alone, half-naked. I bet you look gorgeous. Are you getting hot and bothered yet?” 

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Close your eyes and touch yourself. Not your dick, not yet. Anywhere else. If I was there I’d have my hands all over you. Are you touching yourself?” 

“Yeah,” Frank breathed out. “Ah, fuck. What are you doing?”

“Rubbing my nipples. They’re hard and so sensitive. I can feel it all the way down to my balls.” Gerard sucked in a breath. “I think about your hands on me, touching my chest, teasing at my hips. Your lips on my neck. Your fingers on my balls. Your hand on my hard cock. I’m rock hard right now and I haven’t even touched it yet.”

“Uh.” Frank’s voice cracked. “ _Gerard_.” Gerard’s stomach swooped when Frank whimpered his name. He rubbed his fingertips over his nipples, listening to Frank breathe. The sensation built in his groin and he licked his lips.

“Palm yourself through your boxers. Are you hard yet?” Gerard groaned. “I am. I’m so hot right now, my briefs are tight and damp. My hand feels so good. I want your dick in my hand.” Frank choked back a noise and Gerard rubbed himself through his underwear. “Are you hard for me, Frank?”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck.” Frank groaned. “I’m hard.” 

“Good.” Gerard stopped for a minute, biting his lip to keep from moaning into the phone. “Are you touching yourself? Like how I want to.”

“Yes, yeah.” Frank muttered. “I’m, yeah, it feels good, but I wish it was you.”

“Why don’t you take off your boxers?” Gerard shoved his briefs down, breathing heavy. He spit into his hand and jerked himself slowly. “I wish I could see you laid out naked for me. Hard and wanting. I’d put my mouth on your dick. Teasing at first. Touch your balls. I’d lick the head until you begged for more. I want to taste you. Taste your come in my mouth. I can take a lot. I’d let you fuck my mouth, go as deep as you want.” 

Frank’s breath stuttered down the line and he groaned. “Jesus-fucking-christ, Gerard. Keep going, keep going.” 

Gerard lay there jerking his cock, struggling to get words out with Frank grunting and repeating his name down the line. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine Frank was there with him.

“Frank,” Gerard pleaded as he got closer. “I’m gonna come. You gonna come too?” 

With a strangled sound, Frank mumbled a string of curses down the line. “Fuck. You’re so hot, Gerard,” Frank said through heavy breaths. “I wanna hear you when you come. Please, let me hear you.”

That did it and Gerard groaned as he ejaculated onto his stomach. He didn’t hold back, muttering into the phone as he stroked himself until he was spent. He wiped his hand on his briefs and tried to catch his breath. Boneless, he lay there, body flushed and tingling. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. Eventually, Gerard shivered and was struck by the noticeable absence of a warm body to curl up with.

“Uh, how you doing over there?” Gerard rolled onto his side, tugging a blanket with him and curling up under it. “I hope that wasn’t too much.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Frank drawled. Blankets rustled and Frank murmured a pleased noise.

*

Moving day arrived. Armed with a cargo van, two emotional parents, and a couple of extra hands, they left the nest for Newark. Gerard longed for the day to be over as soon as it began. He left Mikey and his dad to supervise loading the van and helped carry box after box out to the driveway.

After that, he stuck close to his mom, helping her write lists of things they’d need to buy and handing out water bottles. The house had been her family home growing up, so although saddened over the loss of her mother, she was thankful it was staying in the family. Gerard would treasure the house as he had his grandmother.

When they got there, the house—Gerard couldn’t call it his house yet—had been picked through and thoroughly cleaned, so there was plenty of space to pile boxes. They were keeping most of the furniture, linens and kitchen stuff and anything sentimental that Gerard might want was boxed up for him to go through later. His mom had thought of everything. She had even cleaned out his grandmother’s bedroom. It was meant to be his room but he needed a new bed and he still wasn’t ready to go in there. The guest room became Mikey’s bedroom and the third bedroom would remain a study. Climbing the narrow stairs at the end of the hall, Gerard carried the box containing his essentials up to his makeshift bedroom.

The attic spanned the entire footprint of the house, with built-in shelving along the walls and skylights in the slanted ceilings. An old ugly plaid couch stretched across one end. It had been there as long as Gerard could remember. The rest of the space was cluttered with stools and easels in multiple sizes, paints and brushes, and canvasses both used and new. Sketches in his grandmother’s hand were tacked along the wooden ceiling beams. He’d been up there a couple of times in the last week, first to test himself and then later to sort through her artwork and supplies.

Gerard had meant to leave the box up there and return to help unload the van, but now that he was there, he couldn’t help but poke around. At a crouch, he flicked through her paintings one by one. At some point, he realized he’d been inadvertently separating them: finished pieces to either keep or let go of, canvasses with sketches on them, and finally the half-finished paintings. Those were the hardest to look at; she would never see them to completion. There were about a dozen of them. He studied her work, trying to imagine how she would have finished them. One caught his eye, an idea seized his brain and he began sketching on a scrap of paper, searching for the missing puzzle piece.

That’s where Mikey found him later—sitting cross-legged on the hardwood, drawing furiously on sheet after sheet of paper, the rejects littering the floor around him.

“What’cha doing, Gee?” Mikey asked, kneeling beside him, careful not to disturb the circle of drawings surrounding him.

“Oh, hey.” Gerard shot him a guilty look. “Sorry, I got all”—he waved his hand at the floor—“caught up. The light in here is so awesome.” He flapped a hand at the skylight and then across the room, motioning at the sunlight filtering in. He gave Mikey a smile to apologize for dodging the heavy lifting. Mikey shrugged and sifted through Gerard’s sketches for a better look.

“Everything’s moved in. Dad’s getting pizza.” Mikey stood up, ruffling Gerard’s hair to mess it up even more. Gerard swatted at him and he added, “Stay up here if you wanna keep drawing. I’m sure no one will mind.”

“Nah.” Gerard stood up slowly to work out the kinks from sitting so long. “I’m done for now. I should come down to thank everyone for helping out.”

The troops were gathered in the kitchen, sitting on chairs, stools, and sturdy boxes, chatting animatedly. Gerard’s shoulders relaxed. His mom slung an arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze and a knowing look. Gerard was content to stand there and soak it in. His family were loosening their grip on the grief they all shared. Thanksgiving had passed but he thought this was a much better way to celebrate everything they had.

When the side door opened, the smell of fresh pizza breezed in, followed by his dad with a stack of boxes from the local pizzeria. His mom handed out paper plates and they all dug in. Gerard grabbed a slice with mushrooms and pineapple on it and sat down to listen to Ray’s latest wedding woes. 

His  fiancée , Izzy, had grown up in Hartford, Connecticut, with overbearing parents who had too much money and were therefore accustomed to getting what they wanted. They insisted the wedding take place in Hartford. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that their daughter was an avid animal rights activist and also accustomed to getting what she wanted. And she wanted a cruelty-free wedding, with a vegan caterer and no flowers. Apparently, Mikey had already found her a dress made with sustainable, organic, and recycled fabric instead of silk that she was in love with. Naturally, her mother had thrown a fit.

Ray was taking it all in stride. He loved her and wanted to marry her. That was it. He gave his opinion when asked but otherwise let her run the show and manage her parents. The big day wasn’t until June, so they were still negotiating the details.

When Gerard’s cousin Eric inquired about his financial portfolio and sailed smoothly into a lecture about investing in mutual funds and buying life insurance, Gerard’s eyes glazed over. He was still adjusting to the idea of owning a house. Eventually, Eric ran out of financial jargon and to shut him up Gerard promised to come by his office next week. Eric’s face lit up and he said, ‘excellent’ a bunch of times, ending the conversation.

They asked Gerard about school, so he told them about getting Brendon to help out with the play for his drama class. He realized he had gone overboard gushing about his piano-playing skills when his mom gave him a knowing look.

“No, ma,” Gerard protested. “He’s a college kid. He’s really talented, that’s all.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she replied. “You should get him to look at Gram’s piano and see if it’s worth keeping or selling if you guys aren’t going to use it.”

Gerard shook his head. “I’m not getting rid of it.”

After the family left, the house was quiet. His mom cried happy tears when she left, and his dad hugged him tighter than usual. Gerard promised to call them if they needed anything. They were, after all, only five minutes away. As he stood there with Mikey in the living room amid the cardboard boxes, an overwhelming dread settled in. Where to start? His entire life was in those boxes and he hadn’t labelled half of them. He chewed on a nail and tried not to panic.

Mikey sensed his anxiety and steered him out of the room. “Long day.” Mikey marched Gerard up the stairs. “Time to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Once upstairs, Gerard continued up to the attic and Mikey called after him. “Are you seriously sleeping on that couch?”

Gerard stopped to answer, “Why not? It’s comfortable.”

“It was comfortable when you were ten. When was the last time you slept on it?”

“I’ll be fine.” Gerard waved Mikey off with a flap of his hand before continuing up. No way was he sharing a bed with his brother on his first night in his own house. By the time he had laid down and burrowed under a freshly laundered comforter, he was out.

*

The next few days were spent unpacking and bickering over where to set up the TV in the living room. Mikey let Gerard organize the kitchen but wouldn’t let up about Gerard buying a new bed. Furniture shopping sucked. Gerard wasn’t in the mood nor was he ready to move into his grandmother’s bedroom.

Their parents left them to fend for themselves for less than a day. The morning after the move they showed up with a carload of groceries and other things they deemed necessary: paper towels, batteries, bandaids, lightbulbs, and enough cleaning supplies to shine the Taj Mahal.

Okay, yeah, toilet paper was necessary. But the kitchen table was piled high with supersize everything like they’d held up a Costco. A five-pound bag of nuts. Several heads of lettuce. A bazillion Babybel’s and a tub of margarine the size of his head. What were they supposed to do with a gallon of Ranch dressing? Did they really need a twenty-pound bag of dried chickpeas? He didn’t even know how to cook them like that. 

His mom explained about soaking and boiling them as she helped him put everything away. Even though he was bone-tired, Gerard thanked them by making them lunch and engaging in an hour of idle chit-chat. Mikey suspiciously vanished, leaving Gerard alone to entertain them. He threw together some sandwiches and brewed a pot of coffee, and then sat down with his mom and dad in his kitchen. His kitchen. It didn’t sound right, but he had to get used to calling it that.

They had also brought over some clean laundry he’d left in the dryer, a box of stuff he had neglected to pack on moving day, and some mail. It was the mail that had his stomach excited. He spotted it right away—a colourful postcard tucked between two envelopes. The front had ‘Jacksonville’ in block letters at the bottom and when he flipped it over it was signed by Frank. He had written on the back in a swirly scrawl:

_I saw this postcard -_

_bold and bright and beautiful,_

_and I thought of you._

_xoFrank_

Gerard’s mom cleared her throat and he realized he had a stupid grin on his face.

“I didn’t read it,” she said, making eyes at the card.

Gerard’s cheeks flared up. “It’s from Frank. He’s on tour.”

“Well, you might need this, then.” His mom handed over his old answering machine and gave him a look. “I don’t understand what you have against voicemail,” she said. “Do you really need to screen all of your calls?”

“Yep,” Gerard replied, as he plugged it in. Earlier in the week, when he’d been calling around to switch over the utilities, he had cancelled his grandmother’s number and had his personal one moved over to his new address. The last thing he wanted to deal with was fielding calls from people who didn’t know her well enough to know that she was gone. And if he changed his number, he’d have to call a bunch of people and explain why, and he didn’t want to deal with that either. Gerard was a master at avoiding shit that annoyed him.

When his mom hugged him good-bye, she said, “Call if you need anything,” in a desperate voice.

“I will.” Gerard was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes. She gave him a sad, motherly look and he tried to reassure her, “We’ll be fine, Ma,” as he ushered them out, a tired smile on his face.

The answering machine proved its use when the phone rang as Gerard was getting ready to head upstairs for the night. He was fully prepared to ignore the call and go to bed, but as he flicked off the kitchen light, there was a long tone and then Frank’s voice on the line.

With a smile on his face, he scooped up the phone and said, “Hi, Frank.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you to everyone still reading, especially if you've left comments or kudos. It means the world! xx


	9. The Babysitter

When Frank had called the other night from Nashville, neither one of them mentioned the phone sex. Gerard blathered on about the move, the house, his family and friends, and every other mundane thing he could think of to avoid talking about the fact that he’d verbally seduced Frank from another state.

Frank vented about how he’d lost his wallet somewhere between Atlanta and arriving in Charlotte, and even though the band were on the bill, they wouldn’t let him in without his ID. Flashing his tattoos didn’t help, his bandmates laughed and went in without him and yelling at the large-fisted, six-foot man did nothing to help his cause. He was on the verge of punching the bouncer’s lights out (or trying to, ha!) when some punk in line recognized him. The kid pulled him aside and gave Frank his (fake) ID so he could get inside. They looked similar enough and when Frank flashed it at the security guy in the back, he waved him in without a second glance. Frank made sure the kid got into the show free and loaded him up with Pencey Prep merch for his quick thinking.

Now Gerard was back at school, agonizing over whether or not he should have brought it up. His students were quietly working away, wholly absorbed in their art pieces while Gerard sat there chewing on his thoughts. It’s not like he’d planned on sexing Frank up over the phone and he worried he’d been too impulsive. Sex was great. The release was amazing and sometimes Gerard needed that without any strings or emotions involved. But Frank seemed put off by the very idea. 

If Frank was looking to be romanced Gerard could certainly do that. He wanted to do that. But also, Frank had tried to kiss him first. And made that joke about kissing on the first date. Clearly, he wanted that from Gerard. Kissing was okay. Phone sex was okay. Following that line of reasoning, sex was good too. And Gerard had zero interest in hooking up with other guys while Frank was in the picture—he had to know that. Or maybe he didn’t. It was all very confusing but Gerard worried that if he brought it up it would ruin the whole thing with Frank before it even got going. 

Maybe he was overthinking it. Probably.

The bell rang and the students filed out, chatty and in a hurry to get to their next class. Gerard joined them as he made his way to the drama room, steeling himself for the more energetic group. When he’d selected drama as a second teachable, he hadn’t realized how much attention the kids would need. Every class was an exercise in patience with all the goofing around in a competition for loudest in the room. Drama kids never shut the fuck up.

At least Brendon was there on Thursdays. It was a nice break. Brendon could match them for energy and was great at keeping them entertained. The kids loved him. He’d make a great teacher if he was ever interested.

That afternoon, Brendon strolled in wearing his rainbow tie-dyed shirt from his first day there and Gerard knew he was in for it. It was daring. They’d crush his confidence like a pack of wolves picking away at a carcass and his attire would be fodder for at least an hour of gossip. Gerard had a rainbow shirt too, only his was buried in a box somewhere, where it would remain until the next pride parade in the spring.

Instead of warning him, Gerard cocked a smile. “Nice shirt.”

“No, seriously,” Brendon exclaimed, "This is my new favourite shirt. I love it. Cindy said you’re going to make more for fundraising. I think that’s a great idea! If we could get all the kids in the school to wear them, we could start a revolution!"

“Pipe dreams, Brendon, pipe dreams.” Gerard patted Brendon on the shoulder as the kids streamed into the classroom. Luke spotted Brendon right away and marched up to him with a look of disbelief. 

“I thought you were cool! Why are you wearing that?” Luke pointed at the shirt, just shy of poking Brendon’s chest. “Are you gay?” he asked haughtily.

Gerard’s eyebrows went up. He had expected some whispering and giggling, but blatant harassment? Surely he’d taught them better than that. The urge to lecture bubbled up but he held back to see how Brendon would handle it.

“Why? Are you interested?” Brendon replied coolly. “Is that why you’re asking?”

“What?—No!” Luke’s face fell and he sputtered, “No. You—your shirt. Aren’t rainbows secret code for gay?”

“Hmm.” Brendon tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I guess if you know the secret gay code, you must be gay yourself?”

Gerard’s chest tightened, Brendon’s words all too familiar. But Luke was relatively harmless.

“Why would you think that?” Luke said, getting flustered. “You can’t say stuff like that!”

Brendon stared him in the eye. “Is that any different than assuming I’m gay because I’m wearing a shirt with rainbows on it? Maybe I just like rainbows? Or I’m trying to bring back the seventies?”

“No, um. Mr. Way! Make him stop!” Luke demanded.

Gerard raised his palms. “He’s got a point, Luke.”

Luke grumbled, glared at Gerard, and then scurried to the other side of the room to hide behind his friends. He wasn’t fast enough and Brendon called out after him, “Hey, Luke. For the record, I’m bisexual, but thanks for asking!” A bunch of other kids cackled and Luke grimaced.

Brendon turned to Gerard. “Was that outta line?”

Gerard shrugged. “He shouldn’t talk to people like that. I think he learned his lesson and that was way more gratifying than one of my lectures, although I’m definitely going to have a private word with him later.”

“It must be so fun being a teacher. In high school, I would have been crucified for saying that.”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.” Gerard was hit with a wave of something dark and swallowed hard to push it down. He took a breath to settle his stomach. “What are you doing after class? We have a Gay-Straight Alliance group meeting—would you like to come talk to the kids? I’m sure they’d love it if you answered some of their legitimate questions.”

“I don’t know if I have much to say.”

“You can say whatever you feel comfortable with. Talk about your experience in high school and what it’s like now that you’re at college. Think about what you needed to hear when you were where they are now, struggling to fit in and scared of the future.”

Brendon let out an awkward laugh. “You say that like I’ve got it all together.”

“You’re confident and accepting of who you are and not afraid to show it. That’s something to be proud of.”

Brendon looked mildly embarrassed but nodded. “Okay, sure. Sounds fun.”

After school, Gerard walked him to the art room talking animatedly about the students in the group and some of the topics they’d covered before. They knew to be sensitive to other people’s feelings but they could be overly inquisitive. Gerard had long ago put the kibosh on X-rated questions. He wanted them informed but he also wanted to keep his job, so explaining to minors the proper way to give a hand-job was not on the table.

The kids were quietly curious at first, so Brendon started talking, telling them about growing up as a bi-curious kid in a religious family and being harassed through school. After his speech, he answered their questions. Gerard was envious. Would things have been different for him had he been as self-assured when he was Brendon’s age? It was heartening to see how times had changed but he couldn’t help but mourn what he had lost.

Gerard had to all but shovel the kids out of the room when five o’clock came. They clustered around Brendon like he had a magical crystal ball only he could read, clinging to his every word like he was telling the future.

“Thanks, that was awesome.” Brendon was beaming. “I wish there’d been something like this at my high school. It would have made things a bit more bearable.”

“I’m glad,” Gerard said. “You’re welcome here any time. There is no limit to the things that go through their fragile young minds.”

Brendon laughed as he slid a windbreaker on over his hoody.

“It’s December. It’s like, thirty-five degrees out.” Gerard put his hands on his hips and frowned at the thin material. “Please tell me that’s not your winter coat?”

“I’m from Vegas. I don’t exactly have a winter wardrobe.” He caught Gerard’s stern look and raised open palms. “I’m a starving student, what do you expect?”

That gave Gerard another idea. “Are you hungry?” he asked. Brendon shrugged nonchalantly but the look on his face told Gerard that it was a stupid question. It was hard not to laugh.

Gerard pulled on his black pea coat, much more appropriate for the weather. “There’s a good sandwich place across the street. Consider it payback for talking to the group,” Gerard said. Brendon easily agreed and they braved the cold for the sake of dinner.

*

Brendon had been way too appreciative over a quick bite. The way he’d wolfed down two sandwiches and a bag of chips at the café last night said little for the meal plan at Rutgers. Perhaps they could make it a weekly thing. Talking to Brendon outside of school made Gerard realize how much they had in common. And he liked Brendon. He told Gerard more about his family, growing up and being labelled as gay before he even understood what it meant. Gerard shared that he’d been bullied too and even though the accident was on his mind, he kept the details to himself. 

And Brendon’s roommates? Loud, obnoxious, Phys-ed majors who drank all night and slept all day. Gerard shuddered. No wonder Brendon avoided his apartment. Gerard had taken living at home through art school for granted. Befriending Brendon would bring good karma. And a friendship with someone he felt no sexual inclinations towards was easy. Safe. When he thought about Frank, a flurry of emotions fluttered through his gut. He missed Frank even though he didn’t know him well enough to justify the longing in his heart. He once again hoped that initiating phone sex hadn’t screwed everything up.

Gerard sighed. Did he seem desperate for friends? Since moving in, he’d barely seen Mikey. He left Gerard notes when he went out and Gerard wasn't sure if he was giving him space or if Mikey had something else going one. Like a girl. Maybe the girl his mom had mentioned a few weeks ago? But it wasn’t like Mikey to keep secrets from him.

Gerard hadn’t been home long when a car pulled into the driveway, rousing him from his slump on the sofa. He hadn’t even changed out of his work clothes yet. Being an adult with a job and a house and actual responsibilities was a drag sometimes. All Gerard wanted to do was lie around and think about Frank. Maybe jerk off to those fantasizes and smoke some cigarettes. Not spend all day dealing with teenagers and have no time to brood about it when he got home from work.

A minute later the doorbell rang. He rolled himself to his feet and went to the door, straightening his shirt. He ran a hand through his hair as the doorbell went off again. 

He was expecting a visit from someone who worked at an art gallery but not for at least another hour. He’d spent some time picking through his grandmother’s paintings, trying to decide what to do with them all. Several galleries had contacted him but he knew she’d want him to talk to Michael Sutton first. He had a big gallery in Chelsea and his grandmother had been fond of the family.

It was a surprise when he opened the door to an impatient young woman standing on his step.

“Are you Gerard? I’m Abby, from the Sutton Gallery.” Before Gerard could reply, she hopped up and down and added, “It’s freezing out here—can I come in, or what?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” Gerard let her in and she stomped her boots all over the mat.

“Sorry, I’m a bit early. I was in the area. You don’t mind do you?” she asked as dropped her big purse on the floor and started undoing the shiny black buttons on her wool coat.

Gerard didn’t answer. She was already making herself at home, so what was the point? She told him how lucky he was that she was able to squeeze him in at all and instead of rolling his eyes he fixated on the shiny silver ring in her nose. He wondered if Frank had any other piercings or if he would be disappointed to find out that Gerard had none at all. Was Frank aware that he chewed on his lip ring when he was anxious? Would he taste of metal if Gerard kissed him there?

“Hey—hi!” Abby’s bracelets rattled as she shook her heavy coat at Gerard to get his attention. Underneath she wore a summery white dress over a pair of tight jeans. They were tucked into a pair of salt-stained Uggs, which she made no motion to remove despite the melted snow dripping all over the floor.

She squinted at him and gave him a funny look. “I think we’ve met before.”

He took her coat and nodded. “Probably—I went to all of my grandmother’s shows.”

“That’s not it.” She stared at him some more so he took an awkward moment to study her hair. It was as ugly as her boots. Brown with blonde streaks that reminded him of zebra grass. A small patch came up along the back of his grandmother’s garden every year, along with these big, purply, ball-shaped flowers and dozens of wildflowers. He guessed it was his garden, now.

“Got it!” She snapped her fingers and stuck her index finger in his face. “You know Peter Billings, don’t you? Of the Billings family?” He blinked and craned his neck away from her glossy nail.

“Um, yeah,” He said hesitantly. “Peter’s a good friend of mine.”

“They’re loaded,” she said with a knowing look. “He’s a fox, too.” She winked at him as she made her way into the living room leaving behind a puddle of water. Gerard cringed for the hardwood getting salt-crusted beneath her boots. He sighed internally and followed her, hoping to get this through this ordeal as quickly as possible.

Gerard hadn't realized how many paintings there were until they were all stacked in the living room. Thank fuck he’d brought them down the night before. One by one, he’d carried them down two flights of stairs—by himself because Mikey had been nowhere to be seen. Three thick stacks—several dozen in total—were now leaning against the wall by the piano. Abby grimaced when she saw them all.

“Yeah.” Gerard let out an awkward laugh. “There's thirty-seven.”

“No problem!” She dumped her bag on the sofa and put her hands on her hips, surveying the room. “More art, more dough!” she said, rubbing her money-grubbing hands together.

“I don't want to sell all of them,” Gerard said as Abby ignored him to rifle through her bag. “And the ones we’re not selling, we can still put in the show, right?”

“Sure.” She pulled out three rolls of stickers and motioned at the art. “This is all of them, yeah?”

“Well, there’s another dozen or so that she started and never finished."

"There's more?” Abby’s thin eyebrows went up. “How unfinished are they?”

“Different stages. Uh.” Gerard picked at invisible flecks of paint on his jeans. “I thought it would be nice to finish them for her."

“Oh?” She looked at him skeptically. “Are you an artist too?”

“I mean, I paint. Not like her”—Gerard motioned at the art—“but it’s too sad to think about all her work sitting around unfinished. I’ve got a couple of ideas already.”

“Have you sold anything before? Had a show in the city?”

“No,” Gerard said flatly. “So, what? I don’t think that matters. That doesn’t make me any less of an artist.”

She hummed in reply and then said, “Maybe leave those paintings alone.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Gerard replied.

“Suit yourself, it’s your dime.” She shrugged and went to look at the paintings. She flipped through them quickly, hemming and hawing and making all sorts of scrunched-up faces over them. The pull of regret hit Gerard hard. Maybe this was a bad idea.

On her second flip-through, she started putting stickers on the backs. She worked swiftly. Some of them got but a mere glance before getting slapped with a coloured sticker. Gerard loomed over her, arms crossed and hawk-eying her every move.

“What’s with the stickers? What do the colours mean?”

She pondered the one with the deer-people in the burning forest and finally put a yellow sticker on it. “Oh!" She spun around like she'd forgotten he was there. "Green for yes, red for no, and yellow for undecided,” she replied before moving on to the next stack. He frowned when she put a red sticker on one of his favourites. 

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“There's nothing wrong with it per se, but esoteric folk art is not selling right now. The market is over-saturated with that stuff.” Noting the frown on Gerard's face, she huffed and added, “But if you want it in the show, we can discuss it.” She covered up the red sticker with a yellow one and returned to the other stack. “You have to understand, we want to do the show but we also need to cover our costs. We have to be selective.”

“I thought you wanted to honour my grandmother?" Gerard watched her flag another one, dismayed at her blasé attitude. "Not make money.”

“Can't we do both?” she asked. 

Gerard surveyed the carnage and frowned. “I don’t know. Don’t I get a say on what goes in the show?”

“Hey, who’s the expert here?” Abby canted her head and put a hand on Gerard's arm. “Trust me. I know what I'm doing.” 

He pulled away and touched one of the frames. “You don’t even know which pieces I want to keep.”

She flapped a hand at him, bracelets jangling, yet again. “We can go over that later. Once I'm finished labelling, you’ll get a list with suggested selling prices and you can decide then. You might want to sell some of them when you see how valuable they are.”

“I know how valuable they are. She put her heart and soul into her work.” Gerard stopped to take a breath. He shook his head. “You know what, I'm not ready to do this.”

“No, hon, you are,” she said. “You just need to take a step back and let me do my job.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Gerard snapped. “We're done here. It’s time for you to leave.”

She was taken aback by his tone, standing frozen with an ugly expression on her face. He hardened his glare and she fiddled with her bracelets, giving him a flirty smile. “I can see this is a bad time. Why don’t I come back later when you're less stressed?”

That was never going to happen but he wasn't about to argue—he wanted her out of the house. He hovered behind her as she grabbed her bag from the sofa and breezed to the front door.

Gerard was moments from being free of her when she turned back. “Don’t suppose I could get Peter’s number, do you?” The look on Gerard’s face was enough to send her out the door without a reply. Even in possession of the appropriate _hardware,_ she would not be Peter’s type. Not in a million years.

The second her car pulled out of the driveway, he stalked to the living room to remove the stickers. Silently, he fumed, until every last of them had been peeled off and rolled into a sticky ball.

If his grandmother was there with him she would have done the same thing. She painted because she had to. Not for the sake of money or fame but because she was driven to pour herself onto the canvas. Art was in her bones. She’d give a piece away for free if it spoke to someone who couldn’t afford it. Sometimes even when they could. It was in their eyes, she always said.

Gerard selected a painting. It wasn’t his absolute favourite—that one hung in his parent’s dining room—and it wasn’t her best, but the colours reminded him of her. He could spend hours staring at it, studying the colours and picking through the layers of meaning. Every brushstroke had its own story to tell.

Still angry, he hauled it upstairs. It was a tight squeeze with his boxes crowding the hallway. He carried it into her bedroom and propped the painting up against the wall. He put his hands on his knees while he caught his breath from lugging it up the stairs. When he righted himself he glanced around the room. His room. There, he could say it now.

Her antique dresser still sat in the corner. The hard-wood floor was worn and bare and the powder blue walls scuffed and faded in areas where once pictures had hung. It smelled faintly of her rose perfume and her delicate lace curtains still adorned the window.

He turned slowly, inspecting every crack and corner for signs that this was a bad idea. But nothing happened. There was a sadness in his heart and he missed her like crazy but he knew it was going to be okay. He could do this. In fact, there was no one better to do this than him—live in her house, her room, and finish the work she started.

Abby could fuck off back to her soulless showroom and sell knock-off pop art for all he cared. There were other galleries. Maybe he’d forget about a show altogether and give them all away to people who were deserving of them. She’d fucking love that. Roll over in her grave laughing if he did.

*

The next morning, Gerard pulled into the school lot and because it was Friday, had to park on the very outskirts near the field. His appointment with Brian had run late. Because of the holidays, he’d missed last week’s session and felt compelled to make up for lost time. It was a rush to get to school and still have time to pick up a coffee on the way. Grabbing his bag and his coffee, he hurried towards the school.

When he got to the end of the row, he was surprised to see Brendon’s car in the same spot from the night before. He stopped abruptly, coffee sloshing over his fingers and down the side of the paper cup as he frowned at the purple Escort. It was definitely parked in the same area and no way did anyone at AHS drive the same car. At a guess, probably no one in the state of New Jersey, either.

There was no reason for Brendon to be there. He tried to remember if he’d seen him drive away the night before but he could only recall Brendon jingling his keys and thanking him for dinner. He panicked a little, chewing on a hangnail as he crept closer, half expecting Brendon to jump out from somewhere. He went right up to the window and peered inside.

Brendon was curled up on the back seat, asleep. Gerard let out a breath and rapped on the window. A couple of knocks and Brendon jerked awake, eyes startled open. He shot up and stared blankly at Gerard for a minute before opening the door. He motioned for Gerard to get in and shuffled over, slumping against the opposite window. It was fucking freezing inside. Gerard quickly shut the door behind him.

“What are you doing out here?” 

“Um, sleeping.” Brendon laughed awkwardly and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “I’m such an idiot. After dinner, I thought I’d do some studying but I fell asleep.”

“You do a lot of reading in your car?” Gerard motioned at the blanket wrapped around Brendon’s shoulders and the stack of textbooks at his feet.

“I have a big exam today and I was trying to cram.” Brendon stuck his bottom lip out. “I told you—my roommates like to party. This is like, my quiet place.”

“What about the library?” Gerard asked.

Brendon shrugged. “I go there too. Until it closes. During the day, I try to get the most hours out of the practice rooms because I don’t have my own keyboard.” Brendon squinted out the window and looked around. “What time is it?”

“Like nine-forty.”

“Shit. I gotta go.” Brendon turned into a mini-hurricane, flipping the blanket off his shoulders and scrambling around for his glasses and shoes. “I’ve got a class at ten.” He ushered Gerard out into the cold and sat with his legs out so he could slip into his sneakers. He ran a hand through his hair but it remained an awkward mess. “Thanks for the wake-up call.” Brendon gave him a wry smile.

Gerard’s coffee was still warm. He sighed, forlorn, as he handed it to Brendon. It was his first Starbucks Christmas Blend of the year. “Here. You need this more than I do.” Brendon accepted it with caution and took a sip like it might be a trick. Gerard continued, “It’s Friday. Are you doing anything tonight? Do you wanna come over to my house and hang out?”

Brendon’s eyebrows went up, hand freezing with the cup against his lip. “Um, that’s, um…”

Gerard’s hands flew up. “Geez, Brendon, not like a date. I like you, but not like that.” He flapped in Brendon’s direction. “I thought I could bribe you with food to look at my grandmother’s piano. Tell me what condition it’s in. I meant to ask you earlier but it slipped my mind.”

“You have a piano?” Brendon’s face lit up with a grin. “That’s amazing. I mean, that sounds good. Also, why wouldn’t you want to date me? I’m awesome.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and said, “You’re gonna be late for class.”

“Ah, shitballs.” Brendon leapt into action, slamming the back door and hopping into the driver’s seat.

“I’ll call you later with my address.” Gerard gave Brendon a final wave and hurried towards the school. Now he was late for class as well.

*

When Brendon showed up that night, the first thing he did was insult Gerard’s car. He seemed nervous though, so Gerard forgave him for running his mouth off.

“Dude, your car,” Brendon said with feeling. He had a look on his face like he’d sucked on a lemon so it wasn’t a good feeling. 

“What about my car?” Gerard said defensively.

“Uh, it looks like a beached whale.” Brendon’s glasses were fogging up, so he took them off and wiped them with the hem of his shirt.

“It was my grandmothers.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry.” Brendon’s eyes got big as he bounced on his toes. “I’ve seen it in the parking lot at your school and always assumed it belonged to an eighty-year-old science teacher or that weird guy with the horn-rimmed glasses and mutton chops who dresses like it’s still the seventies.”

“That’s Mitch, one of the English teachers,” Gerard explained. “He actually rides a motorcycle. But he is a bit strange, I’ll give you that.”

“Ha. Sorry, I’m a bit hyper.” Brendon grinned wildly. “I’m pretty sure I flunked my film theory exam. I drank two Red Bull’s to get through it.” He shucked his windbreaker and followed Gerard into the living room, still talking. “I thought it would be an easy elective, like watch movies for credit? Sign me up! But it’s so hard. The professor hates me because I always fall asleep during screenings and the essays are brutal. Thank God it’s a single-semester course.”

Brendon’s threadbare t-shirt and tight jeans reminded Gerard that he was still wearing his work clothes. When he’d gotten home he’d been so preoccupied with tidying up and ordering food that he’d forgotten to change. He pointed Brendon in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Go, make yourself at home. There’s a pot of coffee on and soft drinks in the fridge. I’ll be back in a sec.”

After sliding into faded jeans and an old t-shirt, Gerard found Brendon slowly pacing the kitchen with a Diet Coke in his hand. 

Right away he pointed at Gerard’s shirt. “Metallica, _nice_. My brother took me to see them when I was nine and it changed my life.”

Gerard smiled as he poured himself a coffee. “I took my brother too. There were a couple of shows at the Giants Stadium out in Rutherford. Mikey was fifteen.” He sipped from his mug, watching Brendon’s expression grow tight. “Your brother still talk to you?”

Brendon shook his head and flicked at the tab on his Diet Coke. “The only one who talks to me is my sister closest to my age. And that’s because she thinks she can convince me to go back there. Give the church another chance.” Shaking his head, Brendon looked Gerard in the eye and said, “Not gonna happen.”

Then he belched, reminding Gerard that he was hanging out with a teenager. As he slurped his soda he looked closer at the postcards stuck to the fridge. “Travel a lot?”

“No.” Gerard’s stomach went soft. “My... friend, is in a band. He’s on tour right now.”

Gerard’s heavy pause gave him away. “Your friend, huh?” Brendon used air quotes on ‘friend’. He pulled one of the cards off the fridge sending a Darth Vader magnet clattering to the floor. Gerard’s arm shot out to grab it out of Brendon’s hand and missed. Brendon skittered to the other side of the room, using the kitchen table as a barrier. “If he’s just a friend then you won’t mind me reading it, will you?” Brendon waved the card in the air.

Gerard's cheeks were burning. “It’s still personal.”

“It was stuck to the fridge—it can’t be that personal.” Brendon skimmed the back and a grin spread across his face. “Wow, he’s totally wooing you.” Brendon made big eyes at the card. “This is one schmoopy poem.”

“I’m aware.” Gerard crossed his arms. “And it’s a haiku.”

Brendon recited, “Counting down the days, until I see you again, and you make me smile.” He gave Gerard a pointed look. “Seriously? Are you sure he’s not your boyfriend? What do the rest of them say?” Brendon side-stepped towards the fridge and Gerard managed to cut him off. As he plucked the postcard from Brendon’s fingers the doorbell rang and he was saved by pizza delivery.

He could distract Brendon with food. That and Gerard promised to tell Brendon about Frank as long as he left the postcards alone. Some were undeniably racy and Gerard did not want Brendon’s eyes on those. Besides, talking about Frank was Gerard’s new favourite hobby, even if it meant Brendon ate all the good slices of pizza while Gerard yammered on and on. He mostly talked about the band and the adventure they’d had while searching for Pansy, steering clear of the Halloween party and how he’d refused Frank’s kiss at the end of their _not-date_.

“You’ve got it bad for this guy, huh?” Brendon said. “How’s he in bed?”

“I’m not discussing my sex life with you.” Gerard flapped a dismissive hand. “You’re what? Nineteen, twenty?”

Brendon gave him a flat look. “Seventeen.”

“What?” Gerard sputtered. “I have students older than you!”

“Please. Seventeen in Vegas is more like twenty-three,” Brendon said all primly.

“Brendon, I don’t think that a thing,” Gerard said. “Are you really from Las Vegas?”

“Yup.” Brendon chewed on a piece of crust.

“How the heck are you in college already?” 

“I skipped a grade,” Brendon said through a mouthful of food. “They thought I was a genius when I was a little kid.”

“What happened?”

“I hit puberty, discovered sex.” Brendon swallowed and made a grim face. “Age isn’t everything, you know. I was chasing both girls and boys in Junior High. Double the fun, double the heartache. First one broke my heart in kindergarten.”

Gerard laughed. “You’re too much. Five-year-olds don’t fall in love.”

“Yeah, okay—it’s more complex when you’re older but the intensity of the emotion is still the same.”

“I dunno. I think sex is vital for a good relationship and I don’t think you can be in love without it.” Brendon opened his mouth but Gerard kept talking. “Look, there’s all sorts of things—lust, attraction, compatibility—that bring on strong emotions that aren’t love.”

Brendon rolled his eyes. “I think what you’re really saying is, is that you haven’t slept with him yet.”

“I dunno—does phone sex count?” Gerard flushed and threw his hands up in the air. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about.” He stood up to clear their plates. “Sex comes first. Everything else, who knows?”

Brendon adjusted his glasses and then clasped his hands together on the table. “Okay, but when you think about Frank, do you compare him to everyone else you’ve ever been in love with or is it pure lizard brain—how fast can I get him naked and horizontal?”

The answer was hard to work out, so Gerard dumped the dirty plates and cutlery in the dishwasher and put the pizza boxes in the fridge. He grabbed a can of Diet Coke and popped the tab. “I guess, I really don’t know.” He took a drink and leaned against the counter. “I’ve never been in love.”

“What d’you mean, never? I think you’re putting too strict a definition on the word.”

Gerard thought about booze. He loved that. But in love? With a person? He remembered Bert’s confession and shook his head emphatically. “No. Definitely not.”

Brendon’s eyes went wide. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

Gerard laughed so hard soda went up his nose. He choked and got a shot of Diet Coke through his nasal cavity. It fizzed down the back of his throat and he bent over in a coughing fit. When he recovered he abandoned his soda and poured a fresh cup of coffee instead. He sat across from Brendon who gave him a questioning look.

“No, _Christ_ , I’m not a virgin. Sex is different. Getting laid is not the problem.” Gerard stared into his coffee, swirling it around to mix in the cream.

“So, what’s the problem?”

Gerard sighed into his coffee cup. “Frank thinks I’m a slut and instead of moving slow with him I coerced him into phone sex.” Gerard flicked his eyes up to see Brendon’s reaction. For a second his eyes widened in surprise. He quickly recovered and said, “Okay. Did he actually call you a slut or did you come up with that on your own?”

“No, he didn’t say it like that, but I know it’s what he meant. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t use that word. I’m all for promiscuous sex. I don’t see anything wrong with it as long it’s consensual. The way Frank said it, I mean, he thinks I’ve slept around a lot and am comfortable with it, which is true, but he made it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

“But then later you had phone sex? Orgasms and all?”

“A different time, but yeah. It was good at the time.” Gerard frowned into his coffee. “But we’ve talked since and he hasn’t said a word about it. I’m worried I went too far and now he thinks all I’m after is sex when that couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t know how to bring it up.”

“Oh, Lord, don’t bring it up. Not like that, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s not that he thinks you’ve fucked around too much, it’s that he knows he hasn’t and he’s insecure about it. You bringing it up is only going to make him feel worse. He likes you but he’s worried he won’t be enough.”

The light clicked on in Gerard’s brain. “God, I’m so dumb. He even told me that—that he hasn’t been with many guys and has had even fewer relationships.” Everything made so much sense.

“See? It’s not about you. I doubt you coerced him into anything.”

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” Brendon said smugly. “Come to me for advice, any time. I’m well versed in the language of love.”

Thankfully Gerard’s coffee was empty so there was nothing to choke on when he burst out laughing this time. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Brendon said through chuckling of his own. “But know that I’m here for you. Keep me updated.” Brendon winked like a dork and then retrieved what looked suspiciously like a bag of weed from his bag. Shaking it in the air, he grinned at Gerard and confirmed it. “Now, wanna get high?”

“Brendon, are you kidding me?” Gerard slapped a hand over his face and shook his head. “Here I was just thinking about how mature you are and you pull that out?”

“Why not? It’s just weed.”

Gerard put his teacher face on. “I’m a recovered alcoholic.”

“So, you don’t smoke either?”

“No.” Gerard crossed his arms. “No chemical-altering substances of any kind.”

“Yikes. Sorry.” Brendon’s face fell and he fiddled with his lighter. It was purple like his car. “Is it cool if I go outside and smoke?”

“Brendon, think about how this looks. I’m a teacher and you’re not even old enough to drink.” Forget that Gerard was bingeing on the regular well before he’d turned twenty-one. He’d earned the right to be hypocritical about that. “Just you having that in my house could get me into trouble.”

“It’ll be our little secret?” Brendon smiled with teeth. “C’mon, who’s ever going to find out?”

Gerard sighed. “I shouldn’t be encouraging you.”

“You’re _so_ not—I’ve been smoking since I was twelve,” Brendon said firmly. He tossed the bag on the table, poking at it despondently. “I’m not a druggie. It helps me focus. My parents put me on Ritalin when they realized I wasn’t some sort of genius and it turned me into a zombie. Then I dated this pothead. She was from the church, blonde, wholesome—she could get away with anything. Smoking helped way more than those drugs ever did. Not that I ever told my parents. I started selling my pills to buy weed and no one ever knew the difference.”

“Jesus, you are a genius.” Gerard sighed heavily and motioned at the door. “Fine. I could use a cigarette. You can smoke outside if you want but if anyone ever asks, I don’t know anything about it.” When Brendon fist-pumped the air, Gerard nearly changed his mind.

While Brendon meticulously rolled his joint, Gerard rummaged through the closet in the front hall. Coats for every season had been stuffed in haphazardly during the move. Gerard grabbed his peacoat and picked out a sportier jacket that he hadn’t worn for years. It was warm, and although he still liked it, he was willing to part with it for the greater good. 

“Here, you can keep it.” Gerard said, making Brendon bundle up before they went outside.

The air was chilly, so Gerard lit up quickly. He stuck his cigarette in the side of his mouth, expertly inhaling and blowing the smoke out the other side while he rubbed his hands together. Brendon hopped around as he lit his joint, kicking at a pile of snow with his dirty sneakers. They’d had a dusting and Gerard was not looking forward to shovelling when the next winter storm hit. If he ever saw his brother again, he might guilt him into doing it. 

The wind picked up and it blew a flurry of snowflakes off the roof. They floated down, catching street light and sparkling like fairy dust in the sky. Gerard moved out of the way but Brendon faced them head-on and laughed. A bunch landed on him, clinging to his hair like bits of fluff. Wet fluff. He wiped his cheeks and said, “Snow is so cool.”

Gerard snorted. “Okay, that hit you fast.”

Brendon gave him a wry look. “C’mon, dude—I grew up in Las Vegas. Nothing but sand. Lots and lots of sand… and casinos and hookers, of course,” he added.

“I’ve never been there,” Gerard said. “I’ve hardly been anywhere, to be honest. The furthest I’ve been from home was Florida when I was a kid. We used to drive down every few years to visit my aunt. She’d take us to Disney World without my parents. I always felt bad having so much fun without them and it wasn’t until I got older that I realized they were probably ecstatic to have some alone time.”

They finished smoking and hurried inside, spending several minutes shivering on the doormat before removing their coats. Brendon thanked him again for the hand-me-down winter coat. They moved into the living room and Gerard went to the corner, whisking the dust cloth from his grandmother’s piano. 

“I can’t play.” Gerard straightened the sheet music that had been disturbed. “But I want to keep this in good shape. I think Grams used to get it tuned once a year.”

Brendon gave Gerard a careful look. He slid onto the bench and placed his hands on the keys, pausing to skim the sheet music that had been left there. Then his fingers rippled into motion and he played something jaunty. Gerard recognized it as a piece he’d heard his grandmother play before. The music hit him hard. Memories of her practicing. Tears pricked at his eyes. 

Brendon finished with flair but stayed silent when he saw Gerard’s expression. He patted the bench and Gerard joined him, sitting shoulder to shoulder. He plunked a key and offered Brendon a wry smile. “She tried to teach me but I was a terrible student.” He hit another key. “I used to sit here and watch her play though.”

Brendon readjusted Gerard’s hand, placing three fingers on the keys to form a chord. He motioned with his eyebrow. Gerard hesitated, before pressing down, creating a sound that wasn’t awful. Brendon repeated the process a couple more times.

“And A minor,” Brendon said on the last one. “See—easy.”

“Easy for me when you put my fingers on the right keys.” Gerard smiled and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.

Brendon played through a couple of scales. “It sounds pretty good. If it’s rarely played, you could wait a while before getting it tuned. You wouldn’t notice the difference.”

“But you would,” Gerard said pointedly.

“I am a student of music and have perfect pitch, so yes.”

“Is it good enough for you to practice on?” Gerard asked. “Because you’re welcome to use it on the weekends or when I’m home in the evenings. Otherwise, it’s just going to sit here with no one to play it.”

Brendon’s eyes lit up and he played a couple of notes. “Really?” Gerard nodded. “That would be amazing. It’s hard to get practice time on the weekends.”

“You’re good at sight-reading.” Gerard shuffled through the pages on top of the piano.

“To be honest, I’ve played that one before.”

Sensing a challenge, Gerard handed Brendon another song from the pile. Chuckling at the selection, his fingers flew into a number from ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’. He gave Gerard a smug look and sang because he knew every word. Gerard joined in, straining to hit some of the notes. 

They ended up singing for an hour; Gerard’s singing voice was passable, thanks to accompanying his grandmother but Brendon was amazing. He knew the lyrics to everything. Brendon hammered on the piano, transitioning from song to song and showing off when he discovered that Gerard loved many of the same songs as he did. They went from 70’s rock to 80’s pop to show tunes from his favourite musicals. 

When he started playing Disney tunes, Gerard brightened up. “You wanna watch a movie? We’ve got a brand new, big-ass TV.”

They cozied up on his grandmother’s old teak sofa with a huge bowl of popcorn between them. It was weird to be hanging out in his grandmother’s living room without her there to scold him for putting his feet on the coffee table. But they had replaced her coffee table with a brown leather ottoman designed for putting your feet on. Gerard had spilled coffee on it already.

The TV was a brand new forty-two-inch that Mikey had bought the day after they had moved in. It was necessary, he had explained to Gerard, that they have a kick-ass entertainment system for movies and gaming. Gerard couldn’t agree more. Disney in HD? Hell, yes.

Gerard struggled to figure out which remote control worked the DVD player and how to get the surround sound on. The movie popped up and Brendon whooped when it started. They sang along between handfuls of popcorn, mindful not to drop any kernels on the Turkish rug. Still in Disney mode, they watched ‘The Jungle Book’ and then Gerard felt the need to balance it out with ‘Shaun of the Dead’, even though Brendon insisted he didn’t like scary movies.

It was after two am when Gerard woke to noise in the kitchen. Both he and Brendon had fallen asleep on the sofa like a couple of toddlers. He eased Brendon off of his shoulder and stood up to stretch. When he heard whispering in the kitchen, he froze—Mikey had a girl over. 

When they tumbled through the door, Mikey was too busy shushing her in the dark to see Gerard standing there and nearly walked into him. 

“Jesus! What are you doing up?” Mikey sloshed water on the floor as he contorted to hide the girl behind his back. “You scared the shit outta me.”

Gerard told him to keep it down as he motioned at Brendon still asleep on the sofa. Then he tried to get a good look at the girl. She stepped aside and his mouth dropped.

“Hi, Gee,” she said, wiggling her fingers.

“Oh, shit,” Gerard muttered. “I mean—hi! Vickie! What a surprise!” Gerard stared at her, unblinking. There were a million things he wanted to say to her and he had to grit his teeth so they didn’t spill out. None of his words were nice.

Vickie Townsend. AKA the only girl Mikey had ever confessed to being in love with. The great tragedy was that to Gerard’s knowledge she had never loved him back. Or at least never treated him so. For nearly a decade they had been the quintessential on-again, off-again couple, every break-up more destructive than the last. She dumped him time and time again with no explanation and no remorse, leaving Mikey believing he’d done something wrong. 

She was to Mikey, what alcohol was to Gerard: an unhealthy addiction. It wasn't that Vickie was a bad person per se, she just never seemed to know what she wanted. And because Mikey was enamoured with her, he was the one that bared the brunt of her pushing and pulling.

But Mikey hadn't mentioned her for over a year. Gerard had really believed it was over between them. Guess not. If this was real and she was back in the picture, disaster was on the horizon.

“Did you have sex on Gram’s sofa?” Mikey asked, pointedly not lowering his voice as he leaned in for a closer look.

“No!” Gerard whispered, pushing Mikey away from leering at Brendon. “That’s Brendon. The college kid who’s helping with my drama class? We were watching movies.”

“I can see that.” Mikey snatched the remote from the coffee table and flicked the TV off.

Vickie snickered. “Gerard, you dog! I wouldn’t have pegged you the jailbait-type.”

On cue, Brendon struggled to sit up, still half asleep, his shirt rumpled and his hair a mess. Polite was his default so he stuck out his hand to introduce himself. “You must be Mikey?”

“Yeah.” Mikey looked at Brendon’s outstretched hand but didn’t shake it. He put his hands on his hips in a stance he inherited from their mother. “You know my brother’s almost thirty, right?”

Gerard scoffed. “Twenty-seven is not almost thirty.”

“How old are you? You look the same age as his students.”

Brendon crossed his arms and scowled. “None of your fucking business.”

To Gerard, Mikey said, “Seriously, Gee—I bet you teach kids older than him.” He shook his head and gave Gerard a shameful look. “Don’t you have friends your own age to hang out with?”

“What's the matter with you?” Gerard shook his head. “Were you drinking?”

“He can drink if he wants to,” Vickie cut in. “Just because you can’t…” Gerard’s hardened stare stopped her from continuing.

Mikey had the decency to shoot Gerard an apologetic look. “We’re going to bed.” He put an arm around Vickie and ushered her up the stairs.

Gerard bit his tongue. Nothing he could say would change the situation.

“I should go.” Brendon stood up and removed his glasses to rub his bleary eyes.

“It’s two in the morning—you should sleep on the sofa.” Gerard flapped a hand at Brendon. “Or rather, go back to sleep on the sofa.”

“If you’re sure it’s okay?”

“My brother’s not usually like this. That woman is the devil. He’s being a dick but it has nothing to do with you.” Gerard squeezed Brendon’s shoulder. “I’ll get you some blankets.”

Thanking him with too much enthusiasm for two am, Brendon sunk back down on the cushions and Gerard went in search of extra bedding. 

He crept upstairs to the linen closet in the hall. Through Mikey’s bedroom door, Gerard could hear Vickie’s catty voice. She had inserted herself back into Mikey’s life and Gerard felt completely blindsided.


	10. Do You Remember the First Time?

The morning sun streamed through the skylight; Gerard felt the warmth on his face before he opened his eyes. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he stretched as best he could within the confines of the couch. His face pressed into the back where the musty smell was the strongest. He wrinkled his nose and sat up, wincing at the crick in his neck. One more night on that couch and his spine would be crooked for life. A human question mark. He considered trekking out to buy a bed but the glow of the room was perfect for painting. First, though, he had to check on his houseguest.

Instead of Brendon on the sofa downstairs, Gerard found the blankets neatly folded, topped with a ‘thank you’ note. Jesus, his mom was going to love that kid. He shuffled into the kitchen to make coffee. The clock said it was noon already but instead of feeling rested, Gerard was tempted to go back to bed. As the machine gurgled away, he stood in front of the fridge eating cold pizza and mooning over Frank’s postcards.

Mikey came in when he was chomping into a second slice. No Vickie in sight—thank fuck. They locked eyes and Mikey quickly looked away. He busied himself drinking a glass of water and contemplating the cereal boxes. It wasn’t until Gerard poured his coffee that Mikey acknowledged him. He gave Gerard a vague apology for being a jerk the night before, more remorseful for coming home drunk than anything. He didn’t mention Vickie and Gerard didn’t push it. To keep the peace, Gerard offered Mikey the rest of the pizza before taking his coffee upstairs.

With Pencey Prep’s EP crackling from an old boombox, he got to work. He had one of his grandmother’s half-finished canvases propped up on the easel. Wildflowers spanned the landscape, drooping and dead beneath a darkening sky, some mere outlines in want of colour. A field with a figure, drawn loose and lacking detail. He dabbed his brush in burnt orange in time to the beat, singing along with Frank’s aggressive, nasally voice.

A gap between songs revealed footsteps pounding up the stairs. “Jesus, I called you like three times,” Mikey complained, panting as he collapsed on the couch. The next track blasted out and Mikey held out the cordless phone, shouting, “Frank's on the phone!”

Gerard scrambled to turn the music off. He dunked his paintbrush in a glass of murky water and wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving behind streaks of paint. He plucked the phone from Mikey's hand and shooed him away. Cradling it to his ear, he slid down, leaning into the arm of the couch. Mikey didn't move.

“Hey, Frank,” Gerard said into the receiver. “Hang on a minute.” He nudged Mikey with his feet and loudly added, “Thanks, Mikey. Bye now!” kicking harder at Mikey's bony ass. When he didn’t budge, Gerard focussed his stare, prepared to wait him out. Eventually, Mikey shook his head, heaved himself up and left.

“Sorry, Mikey was being a turd,” Gerard said. 

“Yeah, he said you had a date last night.”

Gerard snorted. “Don't worry—it wasn't a date.”

“I'm not worried,” Frank said easily.

“He’s pissed at me.” Gerard sighed and chewed on a nail. “Brendon stayed over last night— _on the sofa_ —and Mikey was being a shithead about it,” Gerard explained. “He’s back with his ex-ex-ex-ex-girlfriend and she makes him a bit crazy. Every time they get back together he gets amnesia and forgets about how she dumped him last time. I guess he’s preemptively mad because I hate her guts and he knows I’ll give him shit about it.”

“Ouch… sorry.”

“It’s whatever. Eventually, she’ll break up with him again and he’ll get over it. Nothing will be as bad as the first time it happened. They were supposed to go to prom together. Mikey got all dressed up, rented a limo with a bunch of his friends and when they went to pick her up she’d already left… with another guy. And it wasn’t just a date or anything—they’d been together for almost a year.”

“That’s brutal!”

“Yeah, and worse—Mikey still went to prom thinking there’d been a mix-up or something. She broke up with him on the dance floor in front of everyone and you know how much Mikey hates being in the spotlight. He was devastated.” Gerard sighed into the phone. “This has been going on for years and years. Not much I can do about it.”

“I guess not. That sucks.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to get all”— Gerard flicked his hand in the air even though Frank couldn’t see him. “Where are you? It’s so quiet there.”

“Chicago. The club’s letting me use their office phone. They have unlimited long distance!”

“Score!” Gerard shimmied down, trying to get comfortable. “What’s going on in Chicago? Is it cold there?” Frank sneezed. “Aww, shit—are you sick?”

“Only a little.” Now Gerard could hear the rough edge to his voice. “Were you listening to my EP?”

“Mmm, yeah. I love it. When are you doing a full album? I would play the shit out of that.”

Frank croaked out a chuckle. “Soon, I hope.” He coughed before he continued, “What were you doing before I called?”

“Just painting.”

“Cool.” Frank’s voice was all low and husky. Gerard had to restrain himself not to tell him how sexy it sounded, especially if he actually felt sick. Frank cleared his throat. “Gonna tell me what you’re painting?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Gerard picked at the flecks of paint that had dried on his fingers. “I’m working on the half-finished paintings my grandmother left behind,” Gerard said and then told Frank about some of his ideas.

“That's really sweet. What’s her art like?”

“Dark. People are shocked when they find out an old lady paints such morbid stuff. Painted.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I got that from her. When I was ten I’d draw my teachers’ dead like zombies, students killing each other, the school on fire, that kind of stuff. One of my teachers found out and the principal sent me for a psych eval to make sure I wasn’t homicidal—can you believe that?”

Frank chuckled until he fell into a coughing fit. “Shit,” he croaked. “Do you still have those drawings? I’d love to see them.”

“They’re not great but they’re gory as hell. Now that I’m a teacher, I kind of get it. If my students drew dead pictures of me, I’d freak out too. I caused my parents a lot of grief. But my grandmother understood. She let me into her studio after that. She said I should be allowed to ‘create without the shackles of an uptight school system’. She made me model for her and I’d have to sit for hours but she’d chatter at me the entire time. I guess I inherited that, too.”

“Sounds like she was an amazing person.”

“She was.” Gerard leaned his head on the back of the couch and shut his eyes. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” There was a long pause. Frank cleared the frog from his throat. “So, um… I don’t want to make things weird, but there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” 

Gerard braced himself. He had decided not to bring it up—the phone sex, or sex in general—until they’d had a chance to see one another in the flesh. Then Gerard could get a better read on him. But if Frank wanted to talk about it… “Sure, go ahead.”

Frank coughed. “So, you know Shaun, right? From my band? Uh, well, he kinda said some stuff…” 

“Stuff?” Gerard’s stomach dropped. That could only mean one thing and it sure as hell wasn’t about sex. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore his heart pounding. It beat so hard he could feel it through his entire body. In a snap decision, he grabbed his smokes and a blanket off the couch and went out onto the tiny balcony that jutted off the attic to overlook the backyard.

“Yeah. Listen, he was being a dick to you. I tore him a new one for that shit he told you—that I’m not your type—and he got all defensive. Said he knows guys you went to high school with and they told him a bunch of stuff. Just—he said a bunch of shit but mostly I yelled at him for being an asshole. And Gerard, you don’t have to tell me anything, I just… I thought you should know in case it ever comes up.”

“What did you hear?” He didn’t want to know. Bundled in the blanket, he pulled his legs up to his chest and got as small as possible, ignoring the pinpricks at his eyes. 

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He didn't. It wasn't something he talked about outside of his psychiatrist's office. Like, ever. He lit a cigarette and smoked like it was a lifeline. For the moment, it settled his nerves. But if he pushed too hard he was going to crack into a thousand pieces.

“I can’t. I can’t go there,” Gerard said quietly in between puffs. “But I don’t want you to think I’m a mental case.” 

“I don’t. I really don’t.” Frank sounded sincere. It clenched around his heart. He breathed softly, listening to Frank’s wheezing down the line.

“It’s still hard… I can’t talk about it. I… it’s what got me so fucked up in the first place.” Gerard shivered and flicked ash out into the wind. His eyes were stinging from the cold. He tried again, tried to explain himself. “I thought I deserved it, that I was being punished for being gay. I was angry and blamed myself for letting it happen. I'm sure you're familiar with Catholic guilt?” Frank snorted in agreement. Gerard used a sleeve to wipe the tears from his face and stub out his cigarette. “But it’s in the past. I’m trying to be better. Be happy and forget about all that shit.”

Frank was quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. Then he cleared his throat and let out a creaky sigh. “Whatever you went through, I’m sorry. But it doesn’t change anything. I think you’re a badass no matter what. I’m sorry I’m not there. I wish I could hug you right now.”

Gerard managed a chuckle through his sniffles. “Me too.”

Frank rustled up some tour stories and Gerard spent the rest of the call smoking leisurely and listening to his raspy voice. Gerard could tell he was exaggerating for comedic impact but it was worth it. He felt better when they hung up.

After his call with Frank, Gerard went downstairs and found Mikey in the living room playing video games. When Mikey saw Gerard’s face, he handed him a second controller and restarted the game. It was a peace offering; Gerard sucked at first-person shooters. They played for a while, Gerard’s character biting it repeatedly while Mikey laughed until his glasses slid down his nose. Gerard’s language got progressively more colourful every time he died.

Gerard poked Mikey with his toe. “Frank’s coming back from tour next week. We have a date on Saturday.”

Mikey smirked and chucked his controller on the coffee table. “Hallelujah!” With a sigh, Gerard slouched deeper into the couch and watched Mikey stretch. He offered Gerard a hand.

“C’mon. Get up.” Gerard didn’t budge. “We’re going to Ikea. You need to buy a fucking bed already.”

*

Shopping with the weekend horde was a hell unlike any other. The automatic doors parted and suddenly Gerard was in the midst of screaming kids and clusters of slow-walkers bumping into him with shopping carts and crinkly, yellow bags. He was a get in, get out kind of shopper but Mikey wanted to stroll through the entire store. For inspiration, he said. Gerard wanted to get drunk and hide under a dining table but he didn’t tell Mikey that.

Before they got lost in the labyrinth, Gerard went to use the bathroom and left Mikey watching kids play in the ball pit. When he came back out, Mikey was leaning on the counter and flirting with the girl manning the play area. “Unbelievable.” Gerard shook his head and went to retrieve his brother. 

As he approached, he heard Mikey ask, completely deadpan, “How do you wash your balls?” motioning at the ball pit. The poor girl looked shocked as she stammered, “I... um... what?”

“He's kidding,” Gerard said to the girl, tugging on Mikey's sleeve. As Gerard ushered him away, Mikey protested, “I was serious, Gee. Those ball pits are a cesspool of germs.”

“Kids are a cesspool of germs,” Gerard corrected.

They rode the escalator up and were ejected onto a path marked with arrows on the floor. Gerard glanced around helplessly and then had to hurry to catch up with Mikey who was already digging through a bin filled with value-packs of tea lights.

“Mikey, man, no way,” Gerard protested. “You’ll burn the house down!”

Mikey gave him an unimpressed look and grabbed two packages. “If anyone starts a fire it’ll be you and your cigarettes everywhere.”

“I told you—I’m not smoking in the house.”

“Say that again when the temperature drops and it starts snowing out,” Mikey said smugly.

Gerard was tired of bickering so he rolled his eyes at the bin because Mikey had already moved on. He’d been there several times since they'd moved in but you wouldn't know it by the way he inspected everything. He poked and prodded furniture and fondled fabrics like he was in the market for new drapery. Out of nowhere he produced a list and scribbled some numbers on it with a yellow pencil.

“That’s a tiny fucking pencil.” Gerard eyed it with interest. “Where’d you get it?”

Mikey showed him and Gerard casually stuffed a handful into his pocket. He knew they’d come in handy for something. If anything, they were small enough he could carry one in his pocket for doodling.

“Ooh.” Gerard stopped abruptly in a room filled with sofas. “We could get a futon for the study. Turn it into a guest room like real adults.”

“So that kid of yours has somewhere to sleep?” Mikey asked.

“No, not for him,” Gerard frowned and flapped a hand at him. “Everyone. Other friends, mom and dad, Elle and the other cousins... maybe not Mark. Don’t you like Brendon?”

“I think it’s suspicious that he wants to hang out with you,” Mikey said with amusement. “Doesn’t he have friends his own age to hang out with?”

“I dunno. More like I don’t have friends my own age to hang out with,” Gerard complained.

“You have lots of friends. What are you gonna do when Frank gets home?”

“Um, introduce them? I think they’ll get along great.” Gerard flicked Mikey’s arm. “I can’t believe you told Frank I was on a date. Are you trying to sabotage me?”

“No,” Mikey said. “I just think the Brendon thing is weird. You’re too nice, Gee. Too trusting. He’s taking advantage of you.”

“Advantage of what? A quiet place to study? A warm meal? He's a good kid and I want to help him. He's like, the epitome of a starving student.”

“And you’re a teacher. How do you think it’ll look if the school finds out you’re inviting teenagers over to your house, huh? They might not see that what you’re doing is perfectly innocent.”

Gerard’s mouth hung open for a second before he came to his senses. Mikey was being intentionally overdramatic. “He’s a college student and we’re friends—there’s nothing illegal about that. It’s not like I’m hanging out with my actual students.”

“What do you know about him other than he's some fucked up kid that wants to hang out with an older man?”

“He's not some random kid, geez,” Gerard said getting increasingly annoyed over having to explain himself. “Look, Mikey.” Gerard sighed. He loathed the words even though he meant them. “If it bothers you so much, I won't invite him over. It’s your house too.”

“That's not what I'm saying.” Mikey huffed. “You need to be careful and I don't trust him.”

“You don’t trust me, you mean,” Gerard snapped. “Well, I can take care of myself.”

“You can’t save him, you know. If Brendon turns into another soul-sucker like Bert, don't come crying to me.”

Gerard nearly bit his tongue tamping down his anger. He was well-aware of his misdirected need to help other people before he would help himself. But he’d progressed leaps and bounds from the person he’d been with Bert. And Mikey was a hypocrite. Gerard wasn’t the only one with a saviour complex but he wasn’t allowed to talk about it—ever—because apparently one fucked up child was enough for the Way family to handle.

“Are you 'effing kidding me?” Gerard stopped in his tracks and lowered his voice. “That was nearly four years ago. I'm not that person anymore.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t give you AIDS or something.”

“You’re being a fucking asshole,” Gerard said flatly. 

“What? If the junkie’s shoe fits…”

“He never did heroin when we were together.”

“And what? He told you that so you believed him?” Mikey said. “I’ll say it again—you’re too trusting.”

“Whatever. That’s in the past.” Gerard crossed his arms. “And there's a big difference between a kid that could use a good meal once in a while and an addict.”

Mikey shrugged but his eyes said he disagreed.

“You wanna talk about Vickie then?” Mikey stopped and the wall went up. “You think I trust her? She’s gonna stomp on your heart like she does every time you let her back in your life.”

“Fine. You stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours.” Mikey walked away, signalling the end of the conversation.

Out of spite, Gerard spent an inordinate amount of time picking out a sofa bed for the study. Then they journeyed on to the bed department. The options were overwhelming. Gerard stopped abruptly, gazing over the sea of mattresses, headboards, and duvet covers and thought maybe he didn't need a bed after all.

Mikey nudged his shoulder. “C'mon Gee, you need a bed.” He leaned close to Gerard’s ear and quietly said, “Where are you and Frank gonna do the nasty?”

“Mikey,” Gerard scolded, elbowing him in the stomach.

“What?” Mikey asked. “You know you're gonna bone him the first chance you get. And he still lives with his mom,” Mikey said like that was a death sentence.

“I told you, we’re going on a date first.”

“Yeah, I know. How romantic? What do you think is going to happen after your date?” Mikey asked. “You gonna bring him back to that gross old couch in the attic? The one you were conceived on?”

“I can't believe we’re related,” Gerard said.

“Mom said it—not me.” Mikey poked him in the back, urging him forward. “Go on—find a frame you like. Then you can test out mattresses and pick some bedding. If you don’t, I’ll pick them for you.” That was a threat. If Mikey ‘helped’ Gerard would end up with a twin-sized princess bed with fluffy pillows and a dainty lace bed skirt.

Gerard huffed and whined but after pacing the floor room, set his sights on a plain black frame. The slotted headboard put ideas in his head. He kneeled on the bed, yanking at each beam to test how sturdy it was. How much resistance it could take.

“Okay, okay—you’re scaring the other customers and I don’t wanna hear about it,” Mikey complained as he tugged Gerard off the bed. “I guess we have a winner.”

Mikey forced him to lie on a dozen mattresses. It was fucking awkward. He posed like a corpse until Mikey kicked him and made him roll around to test the springy-ness. When he found one he liked, Mikey convinced him to splurge on new sheets and a puffy duvet. Then he picked out a cover in black, white and grey with a funky geometric pattern. He nearly jumped for joy when he was done.

“Did Frank tell you where he’s taking you?” Mikey asked as they continued to wander through the store.

“No. It’s a surprise,” Gerard said, a combination of excitement and terror running through him. “We're going into the city but he won't tell me what we're doing.”

“I know where you’re going—you’ll enjoy it.”

“How do you know?” Gerard stopped, flashing Mikey a look of betrayal.

“Frank told me,” Mikey said smugly. “He wants to surprise you but he doesn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“That’s so sweet.” Gerard swooned and walked right into a display of toilet brushes. Mikey laughed hard enough to pull a muscle and helped Gerard pick them up off the floor.

“I’d say sickeningly sweet. I should have told him he didn’t have to work so hard to win you over.”

“Fuck you,” Gerard said. “You should try wooing a girl instead of jumping into bed with her before you get her name.” Mikey rolled his eyes over the bathroom accessories. “I’m serious, Mikey. Stop treating girls like they’re a stop-gap between Vickie flickering in and out of your life.” Gerard’s words shocked even himself, but once they were out, there was no way to retract them.

Mikey cut his eyes at Gerard. “You’re pushing it today, you know that?”

Gerard lifted his hands in surrender. “So it’s okay for you to lecture me about who I’m friends with but I can’t say a word about the girl who’s broken your heart a million times over? I thought we were equals—tell me what you really think? That I’m a naive, helpless, idiot. That I need you to tell me what do or I’ll fuck everything up?”

They had a brief staring contest over a bin of coloured linens until Mikey broke with a huff. “Shut up. You know that’s not true.”

Mikey shuffled through the bin until he got his hands on a navy blue bathmat and launched it at Gerard's head. Having lived with Mikey all his life, Gerard caught it before it hit him in the face. He shook his head at Mikey, tossing the bathmat back into the container.

“I know that’s what you think.” Mikey looked up at Gerard who stood waiting for his reply. “About Vickie. That she’s gonna disappear again and I’m gonna get hurt. Gee, she’s changed.” As Gerard opened his mouth, Mikey shot him a warning look. “Don't say a word.”

“She’s changed?” Gerard couldn’t help himself. It sounded like a load of BS.

“Yes, she has,” Mikey snapped. “We had a long talk. She’s staying in Jersey and gonna go back to school for nursing. She got a job at Walgreens. She’s serious this time.”

“Forgive me for being skeptical,” Gerard said dryly.

“You changed.” Mikey gave him a sharp look. “You fucked up, big time—for a long time, and now look where you are. You got a second chance. Give her one. Why are you allowed to change and not her? You’re being a total hypocrite.”

Gerard didn’t argue with that. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. This wasn’t a second chance for her—more like twenty-second. Gerard had never loved anyone as much as he loved being fucked up. Vickie was Mikey’s heroin and no matter how many times he gave her up, he always went back for more. But Mikey wasn’t in the mood for reason and Gerard didn’t want to fight anymore. Not in the middle of Ikea.

Gerard huffed. “Okay. Fine.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” 

“Okay,” Gerard repeated. “End of discussion.”

Like a good brother, Gerard kept his thoughts to himself even though Mikey’s denial broke his heart. He gave Mikey a moment to change his mind and then motioned with his head that they should continue walking.

At the check-out, Gerard paled when he saw the bill. He handed over his credit card and accepted the mile-long receipt as Mikey wheeled their cart towards the delivery area. Then they had to wait in another line to arrange the furniture delivery.

The next stop was a big box hardware store so Gerard could buy paint. Painting a room sounded boring when he had a stack of canvasses waiting for him in the attic. But it had to be done. He needed a fresh start. Mikey offered to help, but only to choose a colour for the walls. His offer wouldn’t extend to manual labour. 

With a sly look, Mikey picked a colour that matched Gerard's hair and held it up to compare. When Gerard saw what he was doing he snapped the swatch from Mikey's hand and put it back.

When Mikey gave him a questioning look, Gerard said, “I'm not painting my room candy apple red.”

“Why not?” Mikey asked. “Add some white stripes and you’d have your own private circus.”

“This coming from the guy who painted his room beige.”

“It’s not beige, it’s called ‘Malted Milk _’_.”

Gerard spotted a vibrant shade called ‘Agent Orange’ and tucked a sample into his pocket.

“Seriously?” Mikey said.

“For my hair, not my bedroom—duh.” He scanned the wall of paint swatches, struggling to narrow it down. “We should have come here first. Before I bought all that stuff at Ikea,” Gerard said.

“Gee. Everything you bought is black. It doesn’t matter what colour you pick.”

That gave him an idea. He found a swatch and pointed at the shade on the end of the strip.

“That is the worst idea you've ever had,” Mikey said. “You can’t paint your bedroom black—you're not a fourteen-year-old goth anymore.”

“One wall,” Gerard argued. “And the rest...” He contemplated a cheerful, sunshine yellow.

“Like a bumblebee,” Mikey snorted.

Gerard scowled and put the swatch back. Then he grabbed another one and held the colour against the black. It had yellow in it, but the shade was much lighter. 

Mikey snorted. “Seriously? That’s beige.”

“It’s cream.” Gerard scowled.

“Whatever, you’re the artist.”

Instead of painting walls when he got home, he worked on his art. Since he’d primed his bedroom walls already, he was confident he could get it all painted by the end of the week. And put his furniture together. How hard could it be? He could finish everything in time for his date with Frank. No problem.

*

Saturday morning Gerard’s stomach was in knots. It flipped endlessly as he rolled over on the couch and tried to stretch. Yeah, he was still sleeping on the couch. Earlier in the week, a delivery truck had dropped off his new bed. The compact box sat in the hall outside his bedroom. It didn’t fit inside because of all the boxes he’d yet to unpack—he couldn’t even close the door. He hadn’t painted the walls yet, either. The room was nowhere near inhabitable. Definitely not in any condition to sleep in. Or have sex in, unless they did it on the floor like a couple of animals.

Frank had arrived home late Wednesday night. They had spoken briefly, Gerard struck with relief that he’d returned safely. It was weird to feel so comfortable with someone he’d seen so little of. Talking was easy though—the phone sex, something else—and he wondered if things would be different in person.

Regardless, he stepped out of the house with a smile on his face. He popped on his shades. Despite the cold temperature, the sky was blue and the sun shone down, melting snow and warming his cheeks. He’d even forgone his winter coat for a sweater under his leather jacket. Frank had promised no outdoor activities other than a bit of walking and he wanted to look his best.

All he knew was that they were meeting at the train station in Newark and going into the city for the day. Gerard arrived first and found a wall to lean against while he watched people trickle in and out. The weekend crowd was leisurely and talkative, the opposite of the weekday rat race. There were tourists with strollers pushing bundled toddlers, clusters of teenagers yapping about very important things, and people of all ages casually dressed. No one seemed in a hurry to catch the next train.

Gerard bounced on his toes and practiced steady breathing as he scanned the faces for a familiar one. He was getting twitchy, picking at his cuticles and thinking about popping outside for a smoke when he saw Frank. They locked eyes and Frank waved. He gave Gerard a huge grin. A whoosh of butterflies fluttered in his stomach and as he returned the smile.

Any worries Gerard had of an awkward reunion were squashed when Frank crowded him for a hug. He smelled winter fresh with a trace of cologne, his hair soft against Gerard's face.

“You look healthy and rested,” Gerard said after giving Frank a good look.

“Four days of nothing but sleep and my mom's cooking,” Frank replied. “It's good to see your face.”

“You too.” Gerard became aware of his lopsided grin and had to look down at his shoes before he said something embarrassing. 

They rode the train into Manhattan and Frank revealed that he had several things planned, including coffee whenever Gerard wanted it. Gerard laughed and told him that he had clearly found the way to Gerard's heart. The comment was made lightly but something in his chest squeezed at the look Frank gave him in return. 

They ascended the stairs out of the station, warm air turning frosty as they found themselves on West thirty-third. Gerard shivered, tucking his hands into his pockets and hiking his shoulders up to his ears.

“It's not far, I promise,” Frank said. The tip of his nose was red but his impish smile remained. With a spring in his step, Frank led him down the sidewalk, carefully dodging tourists and slow-walkers. When they stopped at the base of the Empire State Building, Frank gave him a nervous look.

“I haven't been up since I was a kid, and they re-opened this summer, since, you know,” Frank said. Yeah, colossal destruction—of course, he knew. Frank chewed at his lip ring as he waited for Gerard’s reaction. 

Without hesitation, Gerard tugged at Frank’s sleeve and told him it was a great idea. Frank visibly relaxed. They went inside and Frank paid for their tickets. There was no wait to board the first elevator and in a flash, they were on the main deck and Gerard’s heart was pounding.

The elevator doors opened and everyone flooded out like a school of fish, racing to the windows for the best view. When Gerard hung back to catch a glimpse of Frank's behind in his tight jeans, Frank noticed and turned around. “You're not afraid of heights, are you?”

“No.” Gerard walked up to the glass to stand beside him. Frank flashed him several curious glances which prompted Gerard to say, “You look disappointed.”

Frank chuckled and ducked his head. “I was going to offer to hold your hand if you were scared, but I guess if you're not...”

“Are you scared of heights?”

“No,” Frank said. 

“I bet you’re not scared of anything, are you?” Gerard nudged his shoulder.

“I don’t like spiders.” 

“What’s scary about spiders?”

“Bad hallucination when I was a kid. I had an ear infection and a high fever. My mom gave me antibiotics that I ended up being allergic to. I saw spiders all over my bedroom. Up the walls and on the ceiling, crawling all over my bed. They were on my arms and creeping into my pyjamas. I couldn’t stop screaming. I think my mom gave me a valium to calm me down. It was a bloody nightmare. I was only four years old but I’ll never forget it. To this day, spiders freak me the hell out.” He shuddered and shook his head with a horrified expression on his face.

Gerard leaned in close, slipping his hand into Frank's and interlacing their fingers. “You never know—there might be spiders up here.” Frank’s cheeks went pink and he laughed into Gerard's shoulder.

They walked the perimeter of the tower, pausing now and then to point out notable landmarks in the distance. Frank's hand was warm in his and while Gerard wasn't generally comfortable showing affection in public, he kept ahold as they went around in a big loop. 

They found a less populated section to gaze out at the city. From there they could see the gaping hole where the twin towers once stood. Someday it would be a museum in memorial of that godawful day, but right now it was a large construction site filled with dirt and ash.

Being there brought back some traumatic memories for sure, but it was also hopeful to see the site being rebuilt. Frank seemed to think so too. He squeezed Gerard’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know who or what to thank for that, but I am thankful.”

Gerard’s heart was full. He was thankful too, so he leaned down and kissed Frank. It was soft and quick and surprised even Gerard after he’d done it. Their eyes met as Frank leaned in to kiss him again, lips softly lingering. Voices echoed round the bend and Gerard gently pulled away. Frank was flushed and he had a goofy smile on his face. A glance around the deck showed no one was paying attention to them. Frank rubbed his thumb across the back of Gerard’s hand as Gerard slouched against the railing.

“And I here I was worried I’d start crying on you,” Gerard said, unable to keep the smile off of his face.

With his free hand, Frank brushed his fingers over Gerard’s cheek and held them up for him to inspect. “See, no tears.” Gerard kissed his knuckles.

On route to their next secret destination, they passed a Starbucks. Gerard’s eyes lingered and Frank abruptly turned them around, tugging him inside. Gerard got way too excited that they were brewing Christmas Blend and pulled a giggle out of Frank for his antics. The café wasn’t busy, so after fixing their coffees they found a table tucked in the corner instead of braving it with the cold. Also, Gerard had the urge to sit and stare at Frank to get better acquainted with the face he’d been longing to study.

“How’s your mom?” Gerard asked. “She must miss you when you’re gone.”

“She does, but she’s used to it. She keeps nagging me about getting a place of my own. She still wants me to quit the band and get a real job.”

“What the hell is a real job, anyway?” Gerard frowned. “What would you do?”

“I dunno. I could finish my business degree. Do accounting or something.. business-y?” Frank shrugged and played with his lip ring in thought. “Right now, I’ve got a pretty sweet part-time gig working at a guitar shop. It doesn’t pay much but they’re flexible when I’m on tour. And I get a decent discount. Most of my money goes into gear anyway.”

“You guys are freaking amazing. You don’t have to take my word for it—Mikey said so and you know he knows his shit. He’s seen every band worth seeing in the Tri-State area.”

“Thanks.” Frank chewed on his ring some more and glanced down at the table. “Mikey knows his shit. I’m worried the other guys in the band aren’t serious enough. We met this dude in Chicago who—okay, I know this sounds sketchy but he said he likes our sound and wants to help us. He has a friend in LA starting up a new label and he wants us to go down there and schmooze him up. If we impress him, he could help us put out a record. It might be a bust but I think we should at least meet with them and see what’s what. Hambone agrees with me but Tim and Neil are like ‘hell, no’ because they don’t think it’s worth our time and Shaun doesn’t care either way. He’s being all wishy-washy about it because he doesn’t like being the tie-breaker.”

“Geez, that’s a bummer. What are you going to do?”

“I dunno. Give the other guys an ultimatum? Shaun, Hambone and I could go to LA without them. We can get by without Neil. And Tim? Drummers are a dime a dozen. The dude seemed cool and knew about the scene in Jersey.”

“What have you got to lose? If that’s what you want, then fuck, Frank—go for it.” Gerard got heated up thinking about Frank abandoning his dreams for nothing. “You’re so talented. It’s your life. Don’t listen to anyone else. I know how I’d feel if someone told me I couldn’t paint or make art anymore. It’s a part of who I am. It’s not possible to stop. I’ve seen you play guitar and you play like that—like you’d die if someone took it away from you.” 

Gerard knew he was rambling and Frank did nothing to stop him. Instead, he was encouraging him with his steady gaze and the quirk of his mouth. Eventually, Gerard’s wild gesturing hit his empty coffee cup and sent it flying off the table. He retrieved it from the floor, willing himself to stop blushing, but Frank smiled like he knew Gerard’s secret.

For his next surprise, Gerard found himself standing on the steps to the MET. They stood outside, shivering, Gerard unable to contain his excitement. 

“I hope you like art,” Frank said knowing full well who he was talking to.

“I hope _you_ like art, Frank!”

“I want you to show me your favourites.”

“Really?” Gerard rubbed a hand through his hair. “I tend to go into teacher mode when I have an audience.”

“C’mon, Mr. Way. I’m counting on it!” Frank grabbed his hand and led him inside. 

Frank let Gerard talk way too much as they strolled through the gallery. They held hands while Gerard gestured with the other, talking animatedly about brush strokes and divine influence. Gerard felt light, like he was floating or drifting through the air instead of walking with two feet on the ground. He could have been dreaming. It was the perfect date and Gerard left with a smile etched on his face.

They stopped to eat at a random burger joint and through dinner, Gerard reigned in his thoughts in a conscious effort to keep Frank talking. It wasn’t hard. Even though they’d had many lengthy phone calls, there was still so much to talk about. Gerard wanted to know everything, from Frank’s favourite cartoons when he was a child to what he’d eaten in Pittsburgh.

They rode the train back in comfortable silence. All Gerard wanted to do was kiss Frank stupid. But they were in the company of strangers so he settled for holding hands and tracing out the tattoos on Frank’s fingers. When they exited the station back in Newark, reality hit. Gerard turned to Frank with a pained look on his face.

“I’d invite you over but I don’t have a bed yet. Well, I have a bed, but it’s still in a box and I have to finish painting before I can unpack. I’m sorry—I’m such a procrastinator. I’m gonna get it all done tomorrow, I promise.”

“Tomorrow, huh?” Frank arched his gorgeous eyebrows. “Want some help?”

Gerard scrunched up his face. “You’re volunteering to help me paint and assemble furniture?”

“Yeah.” Frank looked up at him, tugging his lip ring into his mouth.

“You don’t have to. It’s a lot of work and it’s my own fault it’s not done.” 

Frank stealthily shifted closer and said, “I want to help,” into Gerard’s ear before kissing his cheek.

“Yeah, okay,” Gerard said faintly. Frank’s lips were soft and warm. “That would be nice.”

They walked to Gerard’s car so he could give Frank a ride home. For a moment Gerard forgot where he’d parked and Frank followed him in a slow circle around the parking lot.

“Oh, it’s over there.” Gerard pointed and Frank skipped after him, laughing. 

“Right. How could you miss it? What year is it, anyway?”

Gerard sighed as he unlocked the passenger door for Frank. “1984.”

“Amazing. Almost as old as I am,” Frank said gleefully.

As soon as they climbed in, Gerard blew on his hands to warm them up and Frank started messing with the radio. “It’s busted,” Gerard said. “So’s the tape deck.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Frank hit the buttons and fiddled with the knobs like an over-enthused child.

“Hell if I know.” Gerard started the engine and motioned for Frank to do up his seatbelt. “A tape’s been stuck in there for months. Mikey figured out how to hook up his iPod but I got nothin’.” 

It took forever to navigate his boat-of-a-car through the cramped parking lot. By the time they were chugging alongside the river, Frank was poking at the tape deck again. He was making the best faces at it; Gerard was so amused he nearly rear-ended the VW in front of them. That snapped him out of it and forced his eyes back on the road.

They were in Kearny when Frank shouted out a victorious, “Ha!” He had a cassette in his hand. The guts of magnetic tape were spilling out the bottom and still attached to the deck, but the case was out of the deck. 

“Frank! You’re amazing! How’d you do that?”

“Do you care about”—Frank squinted at the faded print on the side and snickered—“ _Phil Collins_? I hope not.” He gave Gerard a look.

“Definitely not mine,” Gerard said defensively. “You can trash it if you can get it out.”

With glee, Frank tore away at the ribbons of tape until it was had all been freed from the tape deck. He jerked his head up when they were nearing his house and asked Gerard to pull over down the block.

Gerard killed the ignition and gave Frank a lingering look. “Thanks for fixing my tape deck.”

“You sure that wasn’t your tape in there?” Frank teased as he dumped the entire mess into the glovebox.

Gerard smiled and shook his head. He was about to offer to walk Frank to his door when Frank’s eyes went from mischievous to dark. There was an intensity to his gaze that made Gerard’s stomach get all fluttery and compelled him to lick his lips. When he did, Frank made a noise and reached out for Gerard’s collar, pulling him closer.

Their mouths met over the faded, blue-velvet bench seat. They kissed softly for a minute. Gerard’s heart ricocheted through his chest. When he let out a soft sigh, Frank shifted closer and slipped his tongue into Gerard’s mouth. Frank’s fingers settled on his neck, firm and warm as they kissed.

The kiss on top of the Empire State building had been really nice. Soft and memorable, as far as first kisses go. But this—this one was curious and impatient. A kiss that defined the moment. Frank could suggest just about anything right now and Gerard would leap without a second thought. And that was a big deal. Much of Gerard’s life was spent agonizing over trivial decisions and pondering what-ifs. Instead of figuring out his next move or if his breath was bad his thoughts had been reduced to _yes_ and _more_.

He mapped out the inside of Frank’s mouth with his tongue. Felt it like the smooth slide of slipping into that silky underwear he hides at the bottom of his drawer. Heat building in the most delicious way. Frank’s touch grew light, fingers caressing the back of his head, teasing at his hair and using his thumb to trace along his jaw and up behind his ear.

Gerard shuffled closer to Frank catching his elbow on the steering wheel. He clutched the front of Frank’s jacket, reeling him in to kiss the stubble at his jawline. He rubbed his nose in Frank’s neck and whispered, “You smell so good.” Frank chuckled and Gerard could feel the vibrations on his cheek. He rubbed his face against Gerard’s and mumbled into his hair, “Mmm. You too.”

“It’s paint thinner.” Gerard moved to brush his nose against Frank’s. “You’re probably high.” Frank giggled and Gerard quickly muffled it with his mouth. The kiss grew deeper, heating up as Gerard’s stomach flip-flopped around. 

They made out for a while, trading kisses in the dark shadows of the car. It was quiet save for the wet sounds of their mouths and the creaking of the old springs in the bench seat. It was getting steamy. They were literally fogging up the windows, something Gerard thought only happened in the movies. 

Suddenly, his jacket felt hot and constricting and he wanted it off. He struggled to remove it and keep his lips engaged. All his wiggling attracted Frank’s attention and he helped Gerard get it off. As soon as he was free, Frank pushed him back against the window and his hair got damp wiping up the condensation. He didn’t care. Frank was practically in his lap, working one hand down the front of his v-neck sweater and tugging his t-shirt aside. More skin was exposed and Frank leaned in with his lips, nipping and sucking along Gerard’s collarbone.

Gerard pressed his head against the window and let out an audible breath. When Frank’s mouth dipped dangerously close to his nipple it sent shivers everywhere. He forgot where he was. Everything was Frank’s mouth, hot on his skin and his dick firming up in his jeans. Without thinking, he lowered his hand to see if Frank was hard too. Frank gasped into his mouth, pushing into Gerard’s hand.

A dog yipped and the sound flung them apart like an electric shock. They both looked around in a panic. Gerard wiped his hand across the windshield so he could see outside. Up the street, a lady was walking her dog.

“Shit!” Frank exclaimed, red-faced and breathing heavily. His hair was all over the place and Gerard didn’t imagine he looked any better. “Cock-blocked by a Pekingese.”

“You know your dogs.” Gerard fixed his hair and put a hand to his cheek to cool it down. “It looks like a footstool. A fluffy one with a little face.” 

“That’s Rosette. The lady walking her is Mrs. Landry. She’s lived on this street forever. I’ve dog-sat for them before.” Gerard wrinkled his nose and Frank asked, “Not a dog person?”

“I’m not, _not_ a dog person,” Gerard waffled. “But I prefer cats.”

“Cats creep me out." Frank grimaced. “They stare at you with their evil little eyes like they’re plotting against you.”

“Mine do that when they want their dinner.” Gerard sighed. “I miss my cats.”

“They didn’t move in with you?”

“My parents would never admit it but me and Mikey moving out was hard enough on them. I couldn’t take the cats, too.”

“Maybe you should get a dog?” Frank asked.

Gerard let out a burst of laughter and shook his head. “And here I was thinking that you’re perfect.”

It was Frank’s turn to laugh. “I am so far from perfect.”

“You’re still dreamy.” Gerard smiled, lopsided, and had to look away.

“You’re almost the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Almost?”

“Rosette.” Frank shrugged. “Sorry, dogs trump humans.”

“Even with all the kissing?” Gerard waved his hands around in disbelief.

“You’ve never kissed a dog before, have you?”

“Ew, Frank.” Gerard wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“Once they get going, man, watch out for that tongue!” He made a slurping noise and lunged at Gerard’s face with his tongue out. Gerard laughed like a lunatic, grabbing his shoulders, but doing little to push him away.

“You’re so gross.” Gerard screwed up his face and Frank cackled. He gave Gerard a sloppy kiss as Gerard jokingly tried to fend him off.

Rosette yapped again, this time much closer. Frank snapped his head up. “Crap. Get down.” He nudged at Gerard’s shoulder until they were squished down together across the bench seat. The lady and her dog crossed by on the other side of the street and they stayed low, breathing into the darkness. Frank was totally overreacting but Gerard went along with it. 

When they got far enough away Frank straightened up with an apologetic look on his face. “If she sees me the whole street will hear about it by midnight.”

“We’re just talking.”

“Two dudes sitting in a dark car at ten pm? I’m sure even Mrs. Landry would infer something from this and she’d tell my mom. My sex life is none of her business.” Frank chewed on his lip and hesitated before continuing, “She doesn’t know I’m into guys.”

“Oh.” Gerard’s eyes got big—he couldn’t help it. The notion stuck like a barb as his heart sank. “You never said.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not a secret, I guess it just never came up.” Gerard bristled. A secret was exactly what it sounded like. Frank held tight to Gerard’s arms. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t talk to her about this stuff. ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’—y’know? She thinks sex before marriage is a sin.”

Gerard couldn’t imagine hiding Frank from his family. It was an uncomfortable thought. But then, he’d never been interested in girls and his parents had always known. When he was seven he told them he wanted to kiss Tom Cruise. Some things he kept to himself, sure. But keeping quiet about an entire relationship? At what point was that living a lie? What were his intentions with Gerard? Gerard wanted to ask him, but at the same time, he didn’t want to know.

“It’s complicated. All she knows is what the church has taught her,” Frank said quietly. “I don’t think she would accept it. She’d probably disown me. Kick me outta the house.”

The conversation he’d had with a student surfaced in his mind. Not everyone had supportive parents. And some were unreasonable to the point of causing permanent damage.

“It’s okay.” Gerard gripped Frank’s hands hard enough to convey that he understood. “I get it.” 


	11. This Is Hardcore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings: homophobic language, talking about bullying, assault and violence.

Gerard barely slept. The couch was a pain but he was anxious about Frank coming over. He managed to slap a coat of paint on the walls so there’d be less to do later. Give them plenty of time to finish painting, assemble his bed and unpack at least some of his shit. Maybe they could skip the boxes. He didn’t want to take advantage of Frank. Well, he totally wanted to take advantage of Frank—in a consensual way—and he wanted to make the best use of the day.

In the kitchen, he set a pot of coffee to brew and chewed on his nails in wait. Mikey came in and gave him a once over before opening the fridge and picking through the contents. Gerard had gone out and bought groceries that morning as well, so there was plenty to rummage through. After a minute or two, Gerard kicked Mikey in the shin and told him to close the door, complaining about the electricity bill.

“Where’s the cheese?” Mikey asked, head still stuck in the fridge.

“I didn’t buy any.” Mikey turned his head like the girl in ‘The Exorcist’ and gave him a look. “Frank said there’s stuff in it that makes it addictive—like heroin!” Gerard said ardently. “And they torture calves and stuff.”

“What are you talking about?” Mikey closed the fridge and started rooting through the cupboards.

“I dunno. It was gross. I stopped listening.”

“And you didn’t buy any cheese.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” Gerard said with feeling. “I’m sorry.”

“Guess Frank is to blame for the fake milk, too?”

“I like it. Tastes better without all the death and growth hormones. It’s flavoured?” Gerard tried. 

Mikey poured a coffee for himself and left Gerard alone with his vanilla soy milk. Gerard glanced at the clock and sighed. Frank wouldn’t be there for a while. Giddy with nerves, he took his coffee to the living room. He passed the time chugging coffee and bugging his brother while he waited for Frank to arrive. Mikey thought it was frigging hilarious that Frank was helping Gerard paint and unpack. 

"He took you to the MET and listened to you blab about art all day and you’re returning the favour with manual labour?" Mikey asked from his spot on the sofa. He was pecking away on his laptop, messing around with pictures he’d taken the night before in between teasing Gerard. 

"He volunteered.” 

Mikey snorted. “Yeah, because he knows he’s not gettin’ any until you have somewhere to do it.”

“Whatever.” Gerard flapped a hand at him. “My room will be done and Frank’ll be here to help christen the bed.” 

Mikey gave him a look like he was hard done by and poked Gerard in the neck. “Looks like Frank got a head start.” His face lit up with amusement. He tugged at the collar of Gerard’s t-shirt and started laughing. “He’s a biter, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. Yuk it up.” Gerard slapped Mikey’s hand away. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Not if you wear a turtleneck to school.”

“Ah, fuck. The kids’ll destroy me.”

“What happened? You get all worked up at the MET? All that nude Renaissance art.”

“No. Geez, we made out in the car.” Gerard rubbed his neck and sighed. “Frank has issues with the church and like, religious depictions.” 

Mikey tucked his glasses up his nose to look at Gerard. “Issues?”

Gerard propped his mug on his knee, twisting it side-to-side. The heat seeped through his jeans, warming his skin. He took another sip. “His mom is as Catholic as they come and she doesn’t know he likes guys. He said she’d lose her shit if she found out, so he’s keeping it a secret.”

“A secret?” Mikey gave him a sympathetic look. “How’s that going to work? Is he ever going to tell her or are you supposed to act like you’re friends?”

“We didn’t get into it.”

“Gee, you didn’t even have to come out. No offence, but I don’t think you’re capable of being in the closet.”

“And I don’t plan to be.” Gerard sat up straighter, giving Mikey a dirty look. “So, I won’t meet her or go to his house when she’s there. It’s fine.”

“It’s fine? You’re seriously okay with that?”

Gerard shrugged because he wasn’t sure. Suddenly his coffee mug was the most interesting thing in the world. It was so old that the Garfield cartoon on the side was faded, paint flaking away every time someone used it. It read ‘I hate Mondays’ and Gerard had been using it since he was a kid.

Mikey poked at his knee to get his attention. “What about his dad?”

Gerard wrapped his hands around the mug, covering both the fat cat and the slogan. It was still hot, but not enough to burn his fingers. He imagined it was pulsating warmth through his entire body. “I dunno,” he finally replied. “He was young when his parents split, and I know he spent a lot of time with him, but he never said either way. Guess I’m pretty fucking lucky that mom and dad and Grams were cool with it.”

“Not lucky, Gee,” Mikey said sternly. “Some people are bigoted assholes who shouldn’t have children if they can’t love them unconditionally.”

“Mikey, it’s his mom,” Gerard said emphatically.

“Exactly. She should love him no matter what. That religious doctrine is a load of BS.”

“I know, I know. But I’m not going to pressure him. If he needs to keep this from her, then I’ll deal with it.” Gerard poked Mikey with a socked foot. “I like him a lot.”

Mikey patted his leg. “If his mom’s not driving him, how’s he getting here? I’m surprised you didn’t go pick him up.”

“The bus,” Gerard said morosely. “Or like, several buses.” Frank had insisted. He said there was no point in Gerard driving all the way there and back and he couldn’t borrow his mom’s car because it was Sunday and she needed it for church.

When the doorbell rang, Gerard leapt off the sofa, nearly spilling the dregs of his coffee. Mikey caught the mug from Gerard’s hand before it happened. Gerard threw him a panicked, “Thanks!” In his rush to the door, he stopped suddenly, socks skidding on the hardwood floor. “Don’t mention that closet stuff to Frank, okay?”

Mikey waved his hand at the door. “Calm the fuck down and go let Frank in before he freezes his balls off out there.”

When Gerard opened the door, he found Mikey’s assessment apt. The wind whipped into the house, practically blowing Frank inside. The tip of his nose was red from the cold and he was wearing black bulky mittens with skulls on them. They looked hand-knit. 

“Nice mittens.”

“Heh. I tell everyone my grandma knit them, but actually, I took up knitting when I was nine and had to stay in the hospital for a couple weeks.” 

Gerard laughed and called him a badass. He tugged Frank closer and thought that if there was a way to die from affection he’d found it. Frank stomped the snow from his Doc Martens and stuffed the mittens in his pockets. “Did I mention I hate winter?” He crouched over to unlace his boots. 

Distracted by Frank’s ass bobbing in the air, it took Gerard several attempts to hang up his coat, the hanger getting needlessly tangled in the sleeves. Once unbundled, Frank sprang to his feet and trapped Gerard’s arms in a hug. He rubbed his nose in Gerard’s neck until he squawked and squirmed.

“You’re a menace.” Gerard craned his neck away from the cold.

“I’m cold.” Frank released Gerard and fell into his arms dramatically. “Warm me up.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing?”

From his view from the living room, Mikey cleared his throat. “How about some hot coffee?”

“That’s code for no more funny business,” Gerard explained as he pulled Frank to the kitchen.

Frank fawned a little about his postcards all over the fridge so Gerard stuck a mug in his hand and shoved him towards the coffee machine. Then he distracted him with the vanilla soy milk.

Warm and caffeinated, Gerard gave Frank a quick tour of the house before leading him to his bedroom. Mikey’s bedroom door was open so Gerard made a point of showing Frank what a slob his brother was to get back at him for all the teasing earlier. He skipped the art studio, promising to take him up there after they painted. Gerard tended to lose track of time up there and they had a lot of work to do.

Boxes were piled high in the middle of the room. Gerard had laid sheets over the floor to protect it from paint splatter and between the floral print, the single black wall and the cardboard mountain, it resembled a bad stage set. Frank’s eyes widened comically; stacked, the boxes were taller than him.

“I like the room.” Bouncing on his toes, Frank attempted to peer over the mountain. “What I can see of it anyway.” He shot Gerard a toothy grin. “You have a lot of stuff.”

Gerard blushed. “I know.” He busied himself by pouring paint into trays. A blob of paint ran down his wrist when he stood up and he carelessly wiped it on his t-shirt. It was old and blotted with various colours from years of painting. His jeans had a similar look, spots of paint around the frayed holes in the knees and pockets. When he looked up, Frank was watching him with interest.

After saturating two rollers in Vermont Cream, Gerard handed one to Frank, trailing paint across the drop cloth. Flecks of paints hit Frank’s socked feet. He cursed and jumped aside. Brandishing a roller, Gerard gave him a curious look and moved closer, slopping more paint on the drop cloth.

“Stop right there.” Frank stepped back and frowned. “We are not having one of those rom-com moments where we splash each other with paint.” He motioned at his chest. “This t-shirt is vintage." It was a great t-shirt. Classic Misfits skull on black in pristine condition.

“Why did you wear a nice shirt to paint in?”

Struggling for words, Frank looked everywhere but at Gerard, finally admitting, “Because I was thinking more about looking cool than wearing something I could ruin.”

Gerard laughed freely. "You could take it off?" he teased.

Frank put his hands on his hips and cocked his head, instigating a staring contest. Gerard broke first. With a smirk, he carefully set the rollers down to rummage through a box. He pulled out a plain grey t-shirt and handed it to Frank. "Don't say I never did anything nice for you." 

Then he pointedly ogled Frank as he peeled off his precious tee. Frank gave him a lofty look and stretched before he slid on the grey one and retorted, “Don’t say _I_ never did anything nice for _you_.”

Gerard had to bite his lip to restrain himself. He wanted to kiss Frank. Or maybe rip the shirt off. The tattoos across his hips had been a tease and he wanted a closer look. As Frank stowed his t-shirt safely in the bathroom, Gerard sighed wistfully, thinking about Frank’s naked torso. If he pounced on him now, he’d never have a bed to do it in. 

They didn’t have a paint fight but they did disagree over the music. Frank curled his lip at every single one of Gerard’s Britpop CDs. 

“You don’t like any of these?” Gerard felt insulted on behalf of the entire United Kingdom.

“I haven’t heard of any of them but from the covers, they all look like a bunch of whiney shoe-gazers.” He shuffled through the discs. “Got anything that didn’t come out in the ‘90s?” He waved one at Gerard. “Why does this one have a couple of gay guys on the cover?”

Gerard made an irritated noise. “Fuck off. The Libertines—that’s the band. That one just came out. I think you’d like it.” He cracked open the case and popped the disc into the boombox, ignoring Frank’s skeptical brow.

A lively guitar kicked off and Frank tilted his head back and forth like he was considering. “Okay, okay. It’s alright. You really got a thing for those Brits, huh?”

“It’s good music. What do you have against them?”

“Nothing, but is that all you listen to?”

“No, just all of my older stuff is on cassette,” Gerard said defensively. “And I like your band well enough.” Gerard laughed when Frank stuck out his tongue like a brat. 

They painted the walls and Gerard caught Frank bopping to the music multiple times. It was so much better than doing it alone and they finished in a fraction of the time. There were some blobs and streaky patches, but overall it looked pretty good. He’d even managed to not get paint all over the ceiling. The single black wall was kind of intense. Hopefully, once his stuff was unpacked it wouldn’t look like such a black hole.

They decided to take a break and he led Frank upstairs to the attic, his stomach in knots. Paintings and sketches littered the room, each one torn from Gerard’s very heart and soul. All exposed for Frank to see. And judge. It would have been easier to strip. Let Frank inspect his naked body the way he squinted and leaned in to study Gerard’s art.

If Frank was disappointed, he didn’t show it. Wide-eyed, he questioned Gerard until he had him blathering on and on like he had at the MET. If it was a test, Frank passed with flying colours. Gerard got a bit overwhelmed, so he stammered out a ‘thanks’ and dragged him out on the balcony for a smoke and to cool his flushed cheeks.

Lunch was nothing special but Gerard had diligently read the labels in the grocery store once he discovered that the hummus he liked had yogurt in it. He told Frank all about it and his gratitude made it worth it. When Gerard pulled out the fake meat and sandwich fixings and said everything was safe for Frank to eat he pulled Gerard closer and caught him in a five-minute lip-lock. They only stopped when Gerard’s elbow knocked over the mustard, sending it to the floor and startling them both.

Gerard was already recognizing Frank’s patterns and expressions. Frank tried to play it cool most of the time but there were moments when something overcame him. He’d act on impulse, going all-in like he’d forgotten himself. Then it was like his brain caught up to his body and suddenly he’d pull away, stammering and blushing like he hadn’t meant to be so forward.

Like now. He flashed Gerard a shy smile and picked the mustard up off the floor. Then he started assembling his sandwich all casual like he hadn’t just been licking Gerard’s molars with his hand up the back of his t-shirt. His fingers had been so sure and warm against Gerard’s skin. His other hand cupped around the back of Gerard’s neck, fingers light in his hair. The soft sighs he had made, buzzing against Gerard’s mouth. Gerard’s body was overheating. 

He needed a fucking moment.

“How long have you been a vegetarian?” Frank asked as he licked mustard off his wrist.

“Uh, a long time”, Gerard stammered. Frank caught his eye, giving him a sly look like he knew the last thing on Gerard’s mind was lunch. Gerard brushed a hand through his hair and started throwing together his sandwich. “Since I was nine or ten, I think. I don’t even remember what prompted it. My mom says I just came home from school one day and said I wasn’t going to eat animals anymore. That’s it. To be honest, I don’t think about it as much as I should. I know vegan is way harder to maintain but I think you’ve turned me off dairy.”

“Ah, shit. Sorry about that. I get rant-y sometimes. It started with the allergies but as I got older and read more I realized it was something I believed in. I’m used to people ribbing me about it. The guys love taunting me with all the gross shit they eat. I like to get ahead of it with people, not that you’ve been anything but amazing about it. It’s a real treat to not have to defend myself. I mean, there’s stuff I can eat but choose not to. It’s hard on the road though. Sometimes I don’t have much of a choice but I do what I can.”

After lunch, they headed back upstairs. Gerard poked at the walls and found them tacky but decided they were probably dry enough to assemble his bed. They had to move some stuff into the hall to make room before hauling in a giant flat-packed box. Frank ripped the cardboard away and tore into the plastic bag of screws with his teeth, dumping the contents on the floor. Gerard attempted to read the instructions and realized he was in over his head. 

When Frank attacked it like he knew what he was doing, Gerard let him. There was something hot about watching a confident man build something. Together they assembled the bed—Gerard held the planks in place while Frank drilled and they both cracked dirty jokes involving screws and wood. Gerard could listen to Frank’s laugh forever, an infectious giggle that belied his tough punk façade. The pitter-patter of affection surged through him and he realized he was doomed.

Red-cheeked and sweaty, Frank wiped his face off with the hem of his shirt and Gerard got another glimpse of his flat belly and the dark tattoo lines. Frank caught him staring. With a smirk, he stripped off the sweaty tee and tossed it at Gerard, hitting him in the face before he could catch it. He didn’t mind. The damp shirt smelled good. Earthy and warm with a hint of spicy cologne. One whiff sent tendrils of arousal spiralling into his stomach. Before Frank could see him salivating over a dirty t-shirt, he tossed it into a laundry basket. And unfortunately, Frank had put his Misfits shirt back on.

With the paint still drying, it was premature to make up his bed but he was anxious to see it against the black wall. Frank helped him tuck in the sheets and put the cover on the duvet. It was all very domestic and foreboding to the point that neither of them said a word. Gerard considered putting it to use immediately, but Frank was doing that nervous thing again, chewing on his lip ring and not making eye contact. Instead, they set to unpacking. 

It was then, Gerard realized why having Frank’s help had been a terrible idea.

He’d thought it safe letting Frank hang clothes in the closet while he stashed his undergarments in his dresser. He did not want Frank catching a glimpse of his novelty Star Wars boxers or his satin and lace underwear. As he folded, he counted the garbage bags of clothing. Thank god he had a wall-to-wall closet.

Frank poked at a couple of bags before tearing into one. “These can’t all be clothes?”

“Um, yeah.” Gerard coloured and nodded. “I’ve been through a gamut of sizes and styles and I have a hard time parting with anything in case I go back to it.”

“I guess I keep my share of junk, too.” Frank dumped the contents on the floor and began folding t-shirts. “My mom’s essentially a hoarder. Not like, dirty containers or newspapers or garbage, but she has a lot of collections. Religious stuff, weird figurines, those tiny, useless spoons—oh.” Frank stopped abruptly so Gerard turned to look. “Speaking of moms…” When Frank turned around he was holding a slinky red dress up for Gerard to see.

“Oh.” Gerard laughed nervously. “Ha. Yeah, no, that’s mine.”

Frank’s eyebrows went sky high. 

“There’s a couple more in there.” Gerard snatched the dress from Frank and slipped it on a hanger. “It’s not—I’m not… I mean, I was wearing a skirt when you met me, so…”

“That was Halloween. I didn’t know it was a thing.” Frank pulled out another, this one white and airy with long sleeves and embroidery around the neck. He gave it a once over before handing it to Gerard to hang up. “Is it a thing?” he asked in a neutral voice.

“Hmm.” Gerard murmured noncommittally.

“I mean, it’s cool if it’s a thing.” Frank cleared his throat and continued, “You looked hot at the party. I can’t argue with that.” Frank bit his lip and met Gerard’s gaze, his eyes dancing with interest.

“Yeah?” Gerard’s shoulders relaxed as he took the white dress from Frank. “It’s not like, a huge thing. I like to dress up once in a while for fun. That’s all. The first time was research for school. I had an essay for a Gender Studies class and I figured the only way to understand the opposite sex would be to live it for a day.”

“Research for an essay? You’re such a nerd.” Frank got up from the floor to give Gerard a firm but quick kiss on the mouth. When he pulled away, he was beaming. “So, do you wear heels and lace panties, do the whole shebang?”

Gerard laughed. “Hey, will you shelve those books over there?” He pointed Frank in the direction of his bookshelf where there were less revealing boxes to unpack.

Frank dropped to his knees and cracked open a box. “Seriously. I’m open to the full experience, whatever that entails.” He set to work unboxing and stacking books, taking the time to sort them by genre and author. Gerard’s insides went gooey and he replied, “Someday, maybe. When the mood strikes.” He winked at Frank from across the room before returning to his clothes.

They worked in silence until Frank yelped a noise of surprise. He sat back on his haunches and from across the room said, “You keep journals?”

“Shit, uhh, don’t open that.” Gerard dropped a pair of pyjama pants and dove for the box of unmentionables labelled ‘Gerard’s Journals’. When Frank looked hurt, Gerard added, “It’s not journals, it’s um… personal stuff.”

“Okay,” Frank muttered as he opened another box. “Sorry.” He placed a huge art book on the shelf. Tapping his fingers on the side of the box, Gerard sighed and considered it. Nothing in there should scare Frank away. And if it did, then he wasn’t someone Gerard could be with. Although, in hindsight, he should have thought it through. He had nothing to hide but Frank was getting the full Gerard here. All of his secrets and weird interests, all at once.

With bated breath, he set the box down in front of Frank and gave him permission to have at it. He chewed on a nail. When Frank popped the top, he glanced at Gerard like he was doing something naughty. The first item he pulled out was… Gerard’s old journals. When Frank looked confused, Gerard snatched them from his hand. “Those were a decoy. No one wants to read those.”

“I would love to read those,” Frank enthused. Gerard wrinkled his nose and motioned for him to keep going. The next item made Frank snort out a laugh. Spots of red coloured his cheeks as he held up a mound of moulded flesh. “Why do you have a rubber vagina?” Frank made a face as it jiggled in his hand.

“Oh, my God, I swear I’ve never used that.” Gerard scrubbed his hand over his eyes and then carelessly through his hair. “My friend Peter gave it to me as a joke. Said it was the closest I’d ever get to getting pussy—his words, not mine.”

“Why on earth did you keep it?” Frank poked at it, looking both horrified and fascinated.

“Dunno. For an art project, maybe?” Frank snorted and launched it at Gerard. 

One by one, Frank unearthed items and considered each with little reaction. Things you’d expect from a sexually active young man: porn mags, KY, condoms. And an adventurous one: cock ring, vibrator, butt plug (all of which went into Gerard’s bedside table). Frank blushed again when he found the handcuffs but the look he gave Gerard suggested he was at least curious.

“You ever been tied up before?” Gerard asked.

“No.” Frank shook his head and swung them around a few times before handing them to Gerard. He couldn’t meet Gerard’s eyes as he said, “But I could be into it.” Their fingers touched when Frank handed them over and Gerard smiled as he pointedly placed them in the drawer beside his bed.

The last thing in the box was a velvet drawstring bag. When Frank shook it up and down, the objects inside clinked together like plastic beads and he made a weird face. “What’s this?”

“That’s… nothing interesting.” Panicking, Gerard reached out to yank the sachet from Frank’s hand, but the strings keeping it closed caught around Frank’s fingers. He laughed and twisted to wrestle it away from Gerard. “No, seriously, it’s nothing exciting.” When he failed to pry it from Frank’s grip, Gerard flopped onto his bed in defeat.

“ _Nothing interesting_ … I don’t believe you.” Frank leapt to his feet and dangled it over Gerard’s head. He shook it a few more times, his eyebrows dancing with the chink-chink-chink. “How come you don’t want me to see what it is?”

Gerard bit his lip and made a final, feeble attempt to grab it. Without hesitation, Frank worked the bag open and dumped the contents onto Gerard’s duvet.

“Huh?” Frank raised a brow and poked through the contents. “What d’you do with those? Stick them up your butt or something?”

Frank’s reaction was so genuine that Gerard burst out laughing. Frank scowled, batting his hands at Gerard’s face to quiet him. “Frank,” Gerard pinched one between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up for Frank to see. “They’re dice.”

“I don’t get it.”

Gerard scooped up a handful and let them fall to the bed, enjoying the rattling sound they made as they bounced off each other. “For D&D? You’ve never played Dungeons and Dragons?”

Frank shook his head. “Is that like an S&M thing?”

“No, it’s a role-playing game.”

“Role-playing, like a sex thing?” Frank climbed on the bed and sat cross-legged to face him. He picked through the dice, still confused.

“More like a nerd thing.” Gerard held up a turquoise die and was struck by nostalgia. He should start a D&D group at school. He gathered them up, returning them to the bag. “You’ve seriously never heard of it before?”

“Maybe… Why didn’t you want me to see them?”

“Because it’s super nerdy and you’re so cool that of course, you’ve never played D&D before.”

Frank smiled and kissed Gerard on the nose. “Why did you hide them in the first place?”

“Mikey always loses his and steals all my good ones. I haven’t played in a while but some of these were expensive.” Gerard shook the bag one last time and then tucked it away in his bedside table.

“I am _so glad_ I came over to help you unpack.” Frank leered at him from across the bedspread. He gave Gerard his best sultry gaze. “I’m learning so many interesting things about you.” 

“Ugh.” Gerard’s eyes rolled back in his head as he fell back onto his bed. “Too many things. You owe me like a dozen embarrassing stories to make up for this.” Frank chuckled and instead of answering, launched himself to the head of the bed, sending them both bouncing into each other. They tussled for space until Frank stuck his fingers in Gerard’s sides and began tickling him.

“Wait!” Gerard wheezed and squirmed under Frank’s aggressive fingers. “Oh my god, I’m ticklish!” Laughing and gasping for air, Gerard cried out, “Uncle! Uncle!” and Frank rolled away, promptly falling off the side of the bed. Frank’s head popped up like a gopher and Gerard couldn’t stop giggling.

“You okay?” Gerard reached out to fluff Frank’s dishevelled hair back into place. With a nod, Frank grinned and propped his chin on his arms to stare at Gerard. When his gaze grew intense to the point that Gerard’s insides were flopping around and his face flushed, he spread his arms out wide.

“I have a bed, Frank!” Gerard said with glee. He patted the space beside him, inviting Frank onto the bed. “Thanks for all your help.”

When Frank clambered up, he wiggled around until he was on his side so he could prop his head up and look down at Gerard. He shuffled closer, knees bumping into Gerard’s thigh. They were so close, nothing but shallow breaths between them. Gently, he placed a hand on Gerard’s chest, long lashes fluttering as he flicked his eyes across Gerard’s face. 

Gerard wrenched his arm out from between them and put his hand on Frank’s. He kept a loose hold, rubbing his thumb along Frank’s knuckles. Eyes roaming, Frank mapped out the lines on Gerard’s face and Gerard reached out with his other hand to trace Frank’s eyebrows. They gazed into each other’s eyes like a couple of lovesick morons until Gerard’s insides were all hot and twisted. He wanted to kiss Frank but something in him wanted to wait and let Frank make the first move.

“Your eyebrows are so perfect. How do you get them to look like that?” Frank raised his brows and Gerard smiled, fingers following.

“They’re eyebrows. That’s what they look like.”

“Seriously? I mean, they look natural, but”— Gerard squinted for a better look.—“no tweezing or shaping or hot wax”—

“Hot wax?” Frank made a ridiculous face and shook his head back and forth. “Why on earth would I put hot wax on my face?” As Gerard’s fingers slipped away, Frank caught ahold of them with his teeth, gently biting the tips. When Gerard tugged, Frank snarled and held tight. Amusement pulled up the corner of Gerard’s mouth.

“It’s not that bad. Like ripping off a bandaid,” Gerard said. “I did my legs once, just to see what it was like. It took fucking forever but when it grew back it wasn’t all prickly and itchy like it is when you shave.”

“You shave your legs?” Frank mumbled around Gerard’s fingers before releasing them. He smacked a kiss to his knuckles.

“Not normally—just when I dress up. Nothing like silky smooth legs. You should try it sometime.” He stroked the backs of his fingers across the slight stubble on Frank’s cheek. “Imagine it. Running your rough cheeks over all that soft and sensitive skin.” 

Frank took an audible breath and Gerard lowered his hand. “You have all that body art. Didn’t that hurt?” Gerard ran light fingers up Frank’s arm, drawing out lines and swirls.

“Just a little prick.” Frank smirked. “It burns at first but once your adrenaline gets going, it’s kind of euphoric. And addictive.” 

Mirroring Gerard’s actions, Frank ran a hand up Gerard’s arm, gripping his bicep under the sleeve of his t-shirt. He rucked it up further and squeezed. “You hiding any tattoos under there?” He rubbed his thumb over the muscle there. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Gerard cringed and his fingers stilled on Frank’s arm. “Yeah, I can’t do needles.”

“Not at all?” Frank tucked his hand into the hair above Gerard’s ear, stroking smoothly. Gerard’s eyelids fluttered shut and he leaned into it, murmuring, “Mmm, no. I faint.” At Frank’s chuckling, Gerard opened his eyes. “Seriously—I pass out at the doctor’s when I have to get a shot. It’s weird. I’m not scared exactly—it’s like, the second the needle touches my skin—poof! I’m out. It’s fucking embarrassing.” With a turn of his head, Gerard pressed a kiss to the palm of Frank’s hand. “Are you disappointed?”

“Not at all,” Frank said softly. He took a deep breath through his nose and his eyes got all focussed, glossy and dark. Gerard had a split second to register his movement as he clutched at Gerard’s face and drew their bodies together. Heart beating hard, his stomach somersaulted at the contact. Their lips met and Frank kissed him like he had lost all restraint, licking into his mouth. Frank didn’t hold back his desperation; he went deeper, tongue hot and heavy against Gerard’s. Zero to ten in the blink of an eye. He was sloppy and Gerard was so into it. This was a fucking kiss. Biting back a groan, Gerard looped his arms around Frank’s waist and held on for dear life.

With a jerk of his hips, Frank pushed and panted harder, his cock thickening against Gerard’s thigh. Gerard’s dick was getting excited too. He made a surprised noise into Frank’s mouth and grabbed Frank’s ass through his jeans as if he could bring him closer. He shuffled his hips until their groins met, returning the thrust. Frank sighed, biting at Gerard’s lips and tracing his mouth with his tongue. 

They were both hard. Frank started grinding and Gerard’s entire mid-section zinged at the contact. All of his nerves fired at once and left his body tingling until he was light-headed. This already felt a bazillion times better than every time he’d jerked off after talking to Frank on the phone. He wanted to know if Frank did the same but didn’t ask because their tongues were kind of busy.

A haze of heat built up around them. Sweat tickled the back of Gerard’s neck, sticking his t-shirt to his skin. The room was steamy and Gerard wanted to see Frank’s body. He got his hands under his shirt and rubbed his fingers up the knobs of his spine. Leaving a hot sigh in Gerard’s mouth, Frank pressed their faces together as Gerard found the hem of Frank’s t-shirt and pulled. Frank yanked it the rest of the way off and tossed it to the floor.

His hair swooped to one side like the flap of a raven’s wings and Gerard’s fingers were drawn to tame it. Frank fixed his eyes on him, pupils huge with a mossy ring. He snapped his teeth at Gerard’s fingers, shooting him a heated look. Gerard touched his face and let his thumb slip into Frank’s mouth. He knew Frank would take it, bite it between his teeth and suck it with fervour. He looked so good like that. Gerard shivered at the sensation of Frank’s tongue sliding around and the attention he gave to getting it all wet. 

Something caught the light—Frank had a nipple ring. Fuck. Gerard had been too distracted by the tattoos to notice. He wanted to taste it but he couldn’t reach it with his mouth. Instead, he teased at it with his fingers until Frank sucked in a breath and Gerard’s pants tightened around his dick.

They moved at the same time. As Frank pressed his body to Gerard’s, Gerard propped himself up and they nearly bonked heads. Frank complained when Gerard held him at an arm’s length to get a better look at his chest. He followed the lines of his tattoos with his fingers until Frank’s breath evened out.

Frank groaned in frustration. “C’mon, less looking and more kissing.” He grabbed Gerard by the shoulders and shoved him supine on the bed. The bed shook and Gerard had the nerve to laugh at Frank’s desperation. He put his mouth on Gerard’s neck.

When Gerard felt the pinch of Frank sucking on his skin, he said, “Hey! No more of that.”

Frank pulled back and gave him a look, brows knit together with confusion. “What?”

“Hickey’s on my neck.” Gerard caught Frank’s eye and flicked his nipple. “My students won’t take me seriously if I go in on Monday morning all bruised around the collar.”

“Sorry.” Frank pouted and poked at Gerard’s neck. “How about below the neck?”

“Go crazy. You have my blessing.” Frank made another great face at that and then nipped at Gerard’s collarbone. His hair tickled Gerard’s neck and he squirmed. “In a minute though—I’m not done looking at your tattoos.” 

Frank shook his head and ducked his head. Gerard tried to get his hands on Frank’s stomach and they struggled for a moment as Frank grappled to keep Gerard’s hands out of the way while he marked up Gerard’s chest.

With a grunt, Frank hauled a leg over Gerard’s thighs, straddling him in place. He caught Gerard’s wrists and pinned them over his head. Gerard couldn’t move. Frank leaned in close, chest-to-chest with a victorious grin on his face while Gerard struggled against him. One moment Gerard was breathless with lust, and the next, suffocating in panic. He was utterly unprepared when the terror slammed him into the mattress.

His body went limp with fear. He was in danger but he didn’t know why. Tears pricked at his eyes and his heart pounded as he lay there motionless—when he tried to speak the words wouldn’t come out. Blood rushed to his head. He blinked rapidly to stop the dizzy spell.

Oblivious, Frank tightened his grip and wiggled. His dick hard against Gerard’s. Body twitching and trembling, the words finally tumbled from Gerard’s mouth, “Frank, stop, get off—please!”

Frank snapped back and toppled back on the bed, his hands raised in surrender. His eyes bled concern and Gerard had to look away. All he wanted to do was curl into a ball and die. He pulled his knees up to his chest and pressed back against the headboard, burying his face in hands as he choked on stuttered breaths. 

The duvet rustled as Frank shifted on the bed. Gerard focussed on breathing and getting his body to stop shaking. 

When he braved looking up, Frank had his shirt back on and was sitting cross-legged, worrying away at his lip ring. Gerard relaxed a little. Their eyes met and they apologized at the same time. 

Gerard shook his head. “No, I’m sorry,” he said faintly, putting his chin on his knees so he could look Frank in the eye.

“No—hey, Gerard.” Frank reached for Gerard and then withdrew his hand like he wasn’t sure it would be appreciated. “I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me.” Tears welled up and he managed to hold them back. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you.”

“That’s never happened before. I don’t know why I freaked out like that.” Gerard sighed and unravelled himself, lowering his knees and stretching out his legs. “I don’t even know... I don’t know.” He tapped his socked foot against Frank’s knee and Frank immediately put his hand on it, squeezing. “I’m such a disaster.”

“You’re not.” Frank massaged the arch of Gerard’s foot with his thumb. 

“I can take you home if you want?”

“What? No… Do you want me to leave?”

“You didn’t wait six weeks to get into bed with me to watch me cry.”

“No, I waited six weeks to be with you, period. If that means crying, I’ll take it.”

“Shut up.” Gerard swiped at his eyes. “I want you to stay. Please.” 

“I can do that.” He moved forward and Gerard flinched. “You’re shaking. Why don’t you get under the blankets?” Frank gently pulled back the duvet and Gerard shuffled underneath, rubbing at the goosebumps on his arms. The sweat had cooled on his skin and he was shivering. He tugged the duvet up to his chin, trying to calm down. 

Frank laid down on top of the blankets, carefully inching up the bed until they were face-to-face. Gerard found it hard to meet Frank’s eyes even with the respectable distance between them. 

“Don’t feel too bad. The first time a dude tried to kiss me I lit his hair on fire.” Gerard’s eyes went big and Frank quickly said, “Not on purpose! We were outside a club smoking and I thought he needed a light.” Frank shrugged. “We put it out. Only the tips got singed. Barely noticeable.”

A small smile tugged up the side of Gerard’s mouth. “Well, I’ve been with plenty of guys. I’m certainly not afraid of sex.” Frank looked hesitant so Gerard added, “Or you. It was nothing you did—I promise.”

“Um, how many guys have you slept with?”

“I don’t know.” Gerard frowned. “You really wanna talk about this right now?”

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m just curious.”

“Like messed around with or full-on penetration?”

Frank made an indignant noise and blushed. “Either.” Gerard thought it over, brows furrowed and when he struggled to answer, Frank said, “Okay, just intercourse, then.” Gerard hemmed and hawed some more and finally replied, “Enough? A bunch?… I don’t know what you’re looking for here.”

“We talking a handful or double digits? Or can you even remember?”

“Does that matter?” Gerard inched back and scowled at the duvet. “You wanna list of names or something? I had a lot of sex in college but it was mostly drunk and unremarkable. Since getting sober there’s been less than a dozen. I haven’t even gone to a club since the summer.” Frank was sulking—Gerard gave him a dirty look right back. “You know I’ve had a lot of sex. You pretty much called me a slut when we talked about it.”

“I never!” Frank’s mouth popped open. “I never said that.”

“Okay, you said I had a lot of _experience_. But you said it in a bad way like there’s something wrong with casual sex.” Frank’s deep frown gave Gerard a terrible sinking feeling. He sat up, pulling further away with the duvet up to his chin. His chest clenched and he pushed the words out, staring at the covers instead of Frank. “If this is an issue for you, then maybe this isn’t going to work. I can’t change the past.”

“I’m sorry, It’s not an issue—I’m not judging you.” Frank sighed and reached out, placing his hand on the bed between them. “You can hook-up with as many people as you want to. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Frank, most of those guys—it was a different time in my life and it was just sex. I haven’t been with anyone else since I met you. Since the summer, even. It’s not like we were a thing yet. I enjoy sex but if we’re gonna do this—I have no interest in sharing. I don’t need more than one partner.”

A dopey smile crept up across Frank’s face. “Does that mean we’re ‘a thing’ now?”

“I thought maybe we were but”—Gerard freed his arm from the blanket to gesture as he talked—“do _you_ want to sleep with other people?” He ran a frantic hand through his hair. “I mean you’re not even sleeping with me and if I’m gonna have a panic attack every time”—

“Whoah, hey—slow down. Take a breath.” Frank sat up to put a tentative hand on Gerard’s shoulder and Gerard sagged into it. Frank stroked his arm and coaxed Gerard into laying down, letting Frank tug him closer. His body settled but he couldn’t stop the thoughts rocketing through his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Everything’s just really… raw.”

“Don’t be,” Frank said. “You don’t have to apologize, okay?” Gerard nodded and Frank continued. “I wanna be a ‘thing’ if you do. I have no interest in anyone else even if you do have panic attacks during foreplay.”

“I want that too.” Gerard struggled not to tack on another apology.

“And I don’t care how many guys you’ve been with. I guess I kind of got it in my head that you were still on the market. After that day on the phone, with the— _you know_ ”—Frank made an obscene gesture with his hand and Gerard snorted—“I thought it was a casual thing but you got me all, I dunno…” Frank’s cheeks went pink so Gerard finished for him, “Hot and bothered?”

“Yeah, I guess. This one night we had a hotel room and”—

—“Ugh, Frank, _no_.” Gerard groaned and stuffed his face in his pillow, voice muffled as he said, “I’m not in the mood to hear about you doing it with some groupie. I mean, that’s great that you got some action but I don’t want the details. Not right now, anyway.”

“Wow. First off, I’m flattered you think we have groupies. I’m lucky if I can bum a cigarette after a show.” Frank tapped Gerard’s leg with his foot. “I don’t sleep with fans. That’s creepy and weird and a lot of them are still in high school. For the record, I haven’t hooked up with anyone else either, since we met.”

“Have you ever sleep with any of the guys in your band?” Gerard clamped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he said through his fingers. With a noise of frustration, he removed his hand. “Um, sorry for saying sorry?” He flashed Frank a toothy grin.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Frank teased. His eyes scrunched up as he made a face. “I’ve known them since I was fourteen. But this story does involve Hambone.”

“Okay, I’m listening.” Gerard mimed zipping up his lips and tossed an invisible key over his shoulder.

“As I said, the only action I got was with my right hand and alone time was hard to come by. Pun intended.” Gerard groaned and gave Frank’s shoulder a shove. “Oh, you like that one? I’ve got plenty more. You don’t own bad puns.”

“Get on with it,” Gerard drawled.

“We had a hotel room and the guys were out for the evening. I was just gonna watch tv but I started thinking about you and, well, _you know_.”

“No… tell me.”

“I started, um— _beating the Bishop_ and Hambone walked in on me. I didn’t even see him, just heard him laughing, braying like an ass. I was so in my head I hadn’t noticed Pride and Prejudice playing on the tv. Hambone thought I was jerking off to Colin Firth in a cravat and waistcoat. He didn’t even have the decency to leave the room. I had to lock myself in the bathroom to finish.”

“Hot damn.” Gerard smiled. “Colin Firth is hot, though.”

“Yeah, well, Hambone keeps calling me Bridget Jones because he couldn’t grasp a Jane Austen novel if I lobbed it at his thick skull. I mean, we’ve all seen each other’s junk, but we’re like brothers, y’know? It would be like you or Mikey walking in on each other.”

“God, no, that’s never happened. We have a sixth sense about when not to interrupt each other.”

“Masturbation radar. You should patent that.”

Gerard smiled into his pillow, a weight lifting from his chest. “I like this—you got any more?” 

“Yeah, guess I owe you,” Frank said sheepishly. “I’ve been digging through your personal shit all day. It’s no wonder you’re on edge. So, hit me. What d’ya wanna know?”

Gerard thought for a minute and then said, “What ended up happening with the guy whose hair you set on fire? Did he get his kiss?”

“Nah, man.” Frank scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was still in high school. He was asking me about gear and the band—I had no clue he was putting the moves on me.”

“Who was your first, then? Real kiss, not like a peck on the cheek on the playground or lighting some dude’s hair on fire.”

“I don’t know what primary school you attended but if you got caught doing that at Queen of Peace you’d spend the next month of recesses in the chapel praying for forgiveness.”

“That’s harsh. I went to public school. In grade seven two kids got caught having sex in the science lab and all they got was a week’s detention. Puberty must have sucked at your school.”

“It did but we found ways around it. My first kiss was at thirteen. I took this girl to the movies. I wanted to see 'The Craft,’ but it was restricted, so we got tickets for some chick flick about cats and dogs. I had zero game and we spent half the movie playing nightcrawlers with our tongues even though it was totally gross. I kept thinking it would get better but it didn’t.”

“Nightcrawlers?” Gerard giggled. “Did you think maybe you didn’t like girls?”

“Forget girls—I didn’t like kissing. That was around the time I met the guys and all I wanted to do was play guitar and start a band. I fantasized about being a rock star, not taking some chick to prom. I had little interest in girls until I met Rosa.” Frank smiled. “I did have a serious crush on an altar boy when I was eight. We were in the church choir together. Obviously, nothing happened—I’m not sure I even realized what it meant but I would spend every practice watching him sing out of the corner of my eye.” Frank gently poked Gerard through the duvet. “You ever kiss a girl?”

“Um, worse. In high school, I tried to have sex with a girl.” Heat flared up across his cheeks as he remembered it. “Our lockers were near each other and even though she was one of the cool kids, she talked to me like it was nothing. She was cute and seemed interested—why, I don’t fucking know. Probably because I was older and she was insecure.”

“Shut up. Everyone’s awkward in high school.” Frank scowled and touched Gerard’s cheek. “I’m sure you were adorable.”

“I was pudgy and smiled too much. Anyway, it was less about fucking her and more like, if people knew I’d had sex with a girl like her they wouldn’t pick on me as much. Mikey got invited to the cool kid parties, so one night I tagged along because I knew she’d be there. We snuck into a bedroom and she gave me a hand job and then wanted me to fuck her. I kind of panicked, and I tried, but I was so not into it—I couldn’t keep it up—couldn’t even get the condom on. It felt so weird and wrong. It was a disaster. She got annoyed and I left, totally humiliated. She didn’t tell anyone about it and never spoke to me again. I felt real shitty about that. We could have been friends. At that point, I had no doubt that I was pretty fucking gay.”

Frank gave him a half-smile and reached out to touch the tips of Gerard’s hair. “This okay?” When Gerard nodded, he started carding his fingers through it, thumb catching along the ridge of his ear. He watched Gerard intently. “The minute I saw you at that party I knew I wanted to talk to you.” Gerard tensed at the mention of the party and tried to ignore the gross feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Shaking my ass on the dance floor?” Gerard said wryly. “Did you think I was a woman.”

“No. You’re gorgeous with or without all that jazz.” Frank tugged on Gerard’s earlobe, prompting him to meet his eyes. “I was just… drawn to you. I wasn’t thinking about sex—you just looked like someone I wanted to know.”

“Why didn’t you dance with me?”

“I’m a terrible dancer.” Frank made a face and chuckled. “You would’ave run the other way.”

“No, I wouldn’t. You could have at least talked to me.”

“I don’t really approach people like that. Not at parties, anyway. And I wasn’t sure if that guy you were with was your boyfriend so I just watched you for a while. Followed you into the kitchen and—you know the rest.” Frank stroked his thumb along Gerard’s jaw and then across his mouth, telegraphing his intent as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Gerard’s lips. Soft but lingering. “I’m really sorry I didn’t.”

“Well, we’re here now.” Gerard withdrew his hand from under the blankets and slipped it over Frank’s hand on the bed. Then he shuffled closer until their noses touched and all he could see was Frank’s face. He looped an arm around Frank’s waist and tugged him into a loose embrace. Gerard sighed at the contact and his eyes slipped shut, listening to the soft sound of Frank breathing. He murmured, “You make me feel so…” he trailed off, unable to say any of the words in his mind aloud. Desirable. Worthy. Normal.

Frank touched Gerard’s mouth, the side that slanted, and then pressed a kiss there. His fingers returned to the spot and Gerard let out a soft sigh. “I have a huge scar.” Meeting Frank’s eyes, he directed Frank’s hand to a spot near the back of his head. “From the accident. My hair hides it well.” Frank skimmed it with his fingertips and then brushed his hand through Gerard’s hair.

“That guy I was dancing with? I knew his cousin in high school, I guess. I mean, I’d never seen that guy before the party.”

“That douche who couldn’t keep his hands to himself? I’d still like to knock his block off,” Frank said gruffly.

“Well, his cousin’s not any better. I got the usual shit in high school. I was bad at laying low, so I dyed my hair black and embraced the weird. People called me a freak, a fag, a loser, tripped me in the hallway, threw my stuff in the toilet. But Ethan? I don't know why, but he had it out for me. It should have been a sign when he had no problem hitting me hard enough to leave bruises and destroying my stuff.”

“My senior year, Mikey was a freshman. And Mikey was cool. He always had girls hanging off of him, offering to buy him lunch or sharpen his pencils. It didn't make me cool by-proxy, but the usual jerk-offs left me alone when he was around. Except for Ethan.”

“Mikey and I were at his locker one day when Ethan and his cronies came by. He called me a fag and shoved me into the wall. Standard shit, but with Mikey there, I somehow summoned the confidence to talk back to him. I told him that kids who bully others for being gay are usually gay themselves, and I swear to god, everyone in the hallway stopped what they were doing to laugh at him. Ethan punched me in the face. Some other guy tackled me before Mikey leapt in, and suddenly I was being dragged to the principal's office with a black eye and a bloody nose.”

“They called my parents and I decided I’d had enough. I told the principal everything—that these guys had been picking on me for years—and you know what he said? 'Boys will be boys' and then gave us both a week of detention for fighting. Mom and dad were furious but there was only so much they could do. I didn’t wanna switch schools—it was my last year. The principal said that the next time I had an issue with Ethan, I should go to the office instead of fighting and he’d deal with it. Yeah, fat chance.”

“There were repercussions for calling Ethan out on his bullshit the way that I did. By the next morning, the whole school was in a tizzy about how Ethan was gay and Mikey—a freshman—had punched him out. As you can imagine, Ethan did not take this well. After a few days of hiding his bruised ego, Ethan and his buddies stalked me on my way to detention.”

“Uh, they um…” His eyes were wet—he hadn’t noticed. He tried to swallow but his words caught in his throat like cement. He took a dizzying breath, struggling to keep his emotions down. The arm Frank had around his back swept up and down slowly, never squeezing or pulling. He leaned in and murmured into Gerard’s hair. Gerard couldn’t understand the words but the effect it had was calming. 

“My memory's foggy. Parts of it never came back.” Gerard bit his lip as the tears spilled over, drawing a wet path over the bridge of his nose and sopping his pillow. “Everything I remember is in bits and pieces, collected from what people told me afterwards. A couple of guys jumped me, dragged me outside and beat the crap outta me—cracked my jaw, broke my arm, fingers, and ribs. It was vicious—it felt like they were trying to kill me. At some point, my head hit the pavement pretty hard and I was knocked unconscious.” Gerard paused, still sickened over the thought. “When I was out, they fucking threw me in a dumpster behind the school and left me there. I think they left me there to die.” Frank wiped at his face and then kissed him with force.

“What the fucking fuck?” Frank’s breath was hot against Gerard’s face. “Sorry, that’s just—fuck, Gerard, those guys are monsters. Who does that?”

“Not one of them went back to see if I was alive. Later they denied that I was out of it and claimed that I had been screaming at them when they tossed me in there to teach me a lesson for spreading rumours. All bullshit. It was Mikey who found me. He knew I hadn’t left school and when I didn't show up for detention, he started looking for me. The only reason he checked the dumpster was because one of my shoes was on the ground. Mikey figured they stole my stuff and went to see if anything else of mine was in there. He found my body instead. If he hadn’t been there…” Gerard let out a slow breath. “I woke up in the hospital a couple days later with mild brain injuries and two weeks of memories missing.”

“Recovery was awful.” Gerard shook the images out of his head. “I had already been accepted to art school so they let me graduate, but I had to put it off for a year to recover. I couldn't even hold a pencil in my right hand—there was no way I was going to be able to paint. That was absolutely the worst part. I had somehow survived the assault, only to have the one thing I loved, taken away. I only knew how to process my feelings through my art.”

“I did physical therapy and saw psychiatrists, each of them writing scripts for this and that, all these pills. The physical pain diminished and I lied to keep the prescriptions coming. Eventually, they cut me off and I found other ways to get them and added booze into the mix. It was easy to hide everything from my family. They turned a blind eye because of what I’d been through. They never questioned my mood swings or lack of motivation.”

“I started art school fully consumed with the drugs. I was high-functioning—going to classes, back to making art—I had absolutely everyone, including myself, fooled into thinking I was all right. I wanted to die—was slowly killing myself. You know the rest. I was given another chance at life and I took it.”

“Motherfucking fuck.” Frank held Gerard tight and pressed light kisses all over his face, soaking up the tears. “I wanna find those guys and introduce them to my fist.” 

“It took me a long time to stop thinking about revenge,” Gerard said slowly. “And knowing what my family went through? I wanted him to suffer. It took me a long time but I realized that obsessing about it wasn’t going to help me move on with my own life. He was punished and whether or not he’s changed doesn’t matter. He has to live with the consequences.”

“That's mighty mature of you,” Frank said. “If I had known all that when I saw those pricks all over you at the party I would have gone all Michael Myers on their asses. Not that I pack much of a punch, but I would have tried.”

The thought amused Gerard and he cracked a smile. Pint-sized Frank going apeshit on a bunch of goons. “It's okay—you were there to give me tissues and a shoulder to cry on. That counts for something.”

“So, he went to jail?”

“Prison, yeah for aggravated assault. He was nineteen—he’d been held back a couple of grades—so he was tried as an adult. The trial was long and horrible. My parents sued the school so they could afford all the help I needed. There’s still money left—that’s how I pay for a psychiatrist.”

“Is he still locked up?”

“Nope. He got out on parole after five years. As far as I know, he still lives in Jersey but I have a final restraining order so he can’t come near me without getting arrested again.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure one of my uncles is tight with a gangster. I bet I could give him a list of names and you’d never have to look over your shoulder again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gerard said wryly. He didn’t want Frank looking at his puffy, tear-streaked face anymore so he caught Frank’s lips in a kiss. They kissed softly for a few minutes.

Eventually, Gerard relaxed. When his skin started tingling and his body warmed up, searching for more, he knew it was time to stop. He sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Thanks for”—Gerard searched for the words—“being awesome.” He wrinkled his nose. That didn’t quite cover it but he didn’t know what else to say. Frank sat up and pulled him into a hug.

“Do you wanna go out? Get something to eat?” Gerard asked. “I think I need to get out of the house.”

“Yeah, you barely touched your lunch.” Frank grinned. “And I can always eat.”

Gerard went into the bathroom to wash his face, wondering how the hell he’d gotten so lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, geez—10,000+ word chapter. Have I gotten too self-indulgent with all the talking and seemingly pointless interactions? Are you bored or is the pace okay? There is plot buried in here and sex will happen, eventually. I promise! xx


	12. Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning: spooky vibes (if you're not into ghosts and horror movies) but nothing crazy :)

Gerard was counting down the hours until the end of the week and the start of the Christmas break. The students’ minds had vacated their bodies and they were all in holiday mode. They vibrated through the halls, voices pitched excitedly higher and attention spans waning proportionately. 

Monday dragged on like a bad dream. One of those nightmares where you find yourself running from something that never quite catches up, but instead swipes at your heels, daring you to turn around. One glance over your shoulder and you trip, stumbling over your own feet. You fall and fall and fall but never hit the ground, dizzy from the drop into a pit of darkness.

Gerard knew what was pursuing him. Fear. Doubt. All of his insecurities had bubbled to the surface and now he was drowning in them. Frank had been too easygoing last night when they’d gone for dinner and Gerard had driven him home. They didn’t talk about it again—Gerard’s break down—and instead of being reassured, he worried even more. Frank might be cool about it now but what if Gerard was so royally fucked up that he freaked out every time Frank put the moves on him? What if it got worse? By the time Gerard had crawled into bed, his head was spinning. 

His head was still spinning and now he couldn’t find his car keys. There had been a rehearsal after school and then a PTA meeting in 6A. He had to find the janitor to let him in the darkened classroom as he retraced his steps through the school. When his keys were nowhere to be found, he retreated to his office and sat at his desk. He crossed his arms and put his head down. Maybe he’d sleep there and hope his keys magically reappeared by tomorrow. 

He stretched out his legs and his foot made contact with something that jingled. He craned his neck to peer under the desk and sure enough, there were his keys. With a muttered curse, he reached and scooped them up.

It was after ten when he got home. He was so hungry he ate leftover mac and cheese, cold and straight from the container. As he slumped against the counter, ready for the day to be over, the phone rang. He was prepared to ignore it, but Frank’s voice started on the answering machine so he answered, stomach turning with both warmth and apprehension.

Frank asked him about his day like everything was normal so Gerard complained about losing his keys as he took the phone upstairs to get ready for bed. He shed the day’s clothes, letting them crumple to the floor as Frank told him about some guy who’d brought in his guitar for repair. The idiot had the bright idea to superglue the tuning pegs in place thinking it would keep the guitar in tune. Then a string had snapped and of course, now there was no way to fix it. Frank only found the situation hilarious because the guitar was an old piece of junk. Unsalvageable, according to him. Gerard snickered and climbed into bed. His body sunk into the mattress and a yawning sigh escaped him.

“Long day, huh? You sound tired,” Frank murmured.

“Yeah.” Gerard’s eyelids grew heavy as he remembered why. He considered keeping it to himself, but his worries would only worsen if he didn’t get some sort of reassurance from Frank that everything between them was okay. He needed to know if Frank was going to change his mind about dating him. Finally, Gerard said, “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Because you were thinking about me?” Frank joked, but it was the truth.

Gerard sighed again. “I keep going over it in my head. I know it wasn’t about you or sex; it was a physical reaction to being restrained.” He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m terrified it’ll happen again. It’s ridiculous. I’m basically scared of being scared.” Gerard paused and then said, “Where do we even go from here?” 

“What d’you mean? Nothing’s changed,” Frank said. “Except, now I know you don’t like being held down.”

“I’ve been tied up before and not had a mental breakdown over it.”

Frank groaned. “Oh, _fuck-my-nuts_ , Gerard, thanks for the visual. I know what I’m jerking off to tonight.”

“You’re welcome,” Gerard replied. “That might be all you ever get.”

“Baby steps, _baby_.” Frank teased.

“Ugh.” Gerard shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “It’s like you don’t even care if we have sex.”

“Of course, I care. I just think you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“ _Nothing_?” Gerard sat up and gripped the phone tighter. “You have no idea how scared I was at that moment. I know you think it’s stupid”—

—“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think it’s stupid—I know it really freaked you out and it had nothing to do with me. All I meant was, I don’t just want to have sex with you. I mean, that’s obvious, right?”

“Yeah,” Gerard agreed.

“So, what’s the rush? I like hanging out with you no matter what we do, sex or no sex, okay?”

“Okay.” Gerard tried not to smile and failed. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

*

Gerard invited Frank over the following night for dinner and a movie. His drama class had yet another rehearsal after school, this time in the auditorium. Afterwards, Gerard picked Frank up from work and headed out to the good video store in Upper Vailsburg. He spent the entire drive telling Frank all about the play. Frank smiled a lot but Gerard was pretty sure Frank didn’t give two fucks about ‘The Sandbox’ or how many of his kids were still having trouble remembering their lines.

“Can I come?” Frank asked when Gerard finally stopped talking.

“You don’t have to.” Gerard glanced at Frank’s open expression. “Do you want to come?”

“Sure, why not? Unless it’d be weird for you?” Frank poked at a hole in his jeans and Gerard rushed to reassure him, stumbling over his words. “What? No, no, not all. That would be cool. But, um…” Gerard tapped on the steering wheel and looked at Frank again. “Uh, my parents will be there. Do you want to meet them? Would that be okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Frank smiled again and Gerard grinned back even though something niggled at the back of his head that that had been too easy. “Unless you brought me out here to murder me. Where the fuck are we?” Frank squinted at the empty parking lot. 

Gerard laughed and parked the car a few rows down from a darkened warehouse. Only the sign at the top was lit. Frank gave it skeptical look and read, “Sharp’s Furniture.” He raised a brow at Gerard. “It’s a furniture store. And it’s closed. Remind me again what we’re doing here?”

“I told you—there’s a great video rental place. Out back.” Gerard grinned and motioned to a snow-crusted path running alongside the building.

“Either a video store or a great place to dump a body.” Frank toyed with his lip ring and made no move to get out of the car. “Are you shitting me?”

Gerard shook his head and tried not to laugh at Frank’s crazy expression. “They only have VHS but it’s the best horror section I’ve ever seen. Like, ten times better than Blockbuster. The family who owns the furniture store opened a video shop in the back. C’mon.” 

The path was more like an overgrown sidewalk and the only thing scary about it was how haphazardly the snow had been cleared, the lack of salt a lawsuit waiting to happen. Frank shoved his hands in his pockets and skated along in his Chucks, slip-sliding around patches of snow. He nearly skidded into a tree but Gerard caught his arm just in time, steering him along.

The entrance was on the side of the building. It couldn’t be seen from the parking lot, but up high on the wall was a big sign in the shape of a knife that read, ‘Sharp’s Video’. The paint was chipped and fading but it only added to the creepiness. There was even red paint dripped along the bottom to resemble blood.

Inside, the store was cramped and well-lit, with rows and rows of racks stuffed to the gills with movie cases. They made bad insulation as the air was still cold. Gerard blew on his hands and watched as Frank stood frozen, mouth agape like he didn’t know where to start. Gerard nudged his shoulder to get him moving. A musty smell followed them through the store, decades of decay trampled into the dirty teal carpeting. Frank sneezed and Gerard assumed it was from dust.

They took their time, meandering the aisles and trying to find at least one movie neither of them had seen already. Naturally, they gravitated to the horror section and Frank made the most amazing face when the fluorescent light overhead started flickering. Gerard tugged him closer and together they picked out a Rob Zombie psycho-gore-fest and a Japanese flick. The English remake had just been in the theatre but neither of them had seen the original. On their way to the checkout, Gerard found a Wes Anderson movie in the new releases section and added it to the pile.

They got back in the car and before starting the engine, Gerard turned to Frank with a confession. “So, I wanted to surprise you by cooking dinner but the only thing I could think of that would be okay for you to eat is pasta, and Mikey always complains that my pasta is crunchy. I thought we could grab take-out on the way back, instead.”

Frank smiled and then leaned in and surprised Gerard with a kiss. “Okay, how about this?” Frank said, close to Gerard’s cheek. “Let’s stop at a grocery store and we’ll get some stuff to make dinner together.” He pressed his lips to Gerard’s once more, before he could answer.

“Mmm. Sounds good,” Gerard murmured against Frank’s mouth.

Gerard trailed Frank through the grocery store, nodding at everything Frank wiggled in his face before adding to the basket. Frank still wanted to make pasta and said he could do better than the spaghetti and canned sauce Gerard would have prepared. He picked out a bunch of vegetables and stuff to make the sauce from scratch. The only weird items were olives and capers but Gerard wasn’t picky. The capers surprised him because he’d always thought they were some sort of seafood or fish eggs. Something not vegan, anyway. Frank laughed like Gerard had been joking so Gerard kept his ignorance to himself. 

On the way to the checkout, they walked by the dairy section and Gerard made sad eyes at all the delicious cheese so Frank started telling him horror stories about abused calves and how this shit called casein that was in cheese was more addictive than heroin. Jesus H. Christ, Frank was a holy terror!

They made it back to Gerard’s and right away Frank started unpacking the groceries. Gerard’s stomach turned over in a good way and then the anxiety crept in. At least Frank seemed comfortable. Gerard left him poking through the kitchen cabinets as he went upstairs to change. It wasn’t necessary as he’d dressed casually that day, but he needed a moment alone.

It was dark upstairs and it wasn’t a surprise to find Mikey had gone out. He stripped off his sweater and t-shirt and went into the bathroom to pee and put on a fresh layer of deodorant. It smelled good enough that he never wore cologne but he found himself wondering if he should. Frank always smelled amazing. He splashed some water on his face and fussed with his hair. It had grown past his ears and was starting to look straggly and unkempt. Eventually, he gave up—not like he could do anything about it now.

Frank was flying around the kitchen—veggies chopped and pots on the stove—by the time Gerard came back downstairs. His mouth watered at the smells in the air, like he’d walked into a fancy Italian restaurant. With a gorgeous chef. Frank flashed him a smile, not at all annoyed that he was doing all the cooking.

“Sorry I took so long,” Gerard said anyway. “I do want to help.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it—I love this shit.” Frank pulled Gerard into his work area and handed him a loaf of crusty bread. “Wanna make the garlic bread?” Gerard nodded.

Dinner was amazing—Gerard told Frank so as his only contribution had been slightly underdone garlic bread and setting the table. He’d spent ten minutes stressing out over whether or not light some candles. Was it too cheesy? Too obvious? What if he set everything on fire and they ended up in the ER instead of cozied up on the sofa later? But he wanted to do something since Frank had done everything else. It might be romantic. It didn’t matter anyway—Gerard couldn’t find any candles.

Not only was Frank a good cook but he kept a tidy kitchen. Sure, there were some dirty dishes and the counter needed to be wiped down, but otherwise, it was clean. When Gerard cooked, the colossal mess he left behind usually looked more appetizing than the meal. In appreciation, Gerard all but ordered Frank to sit at the table while he cleared their plates and loaded everything into the dishwasher.

They went out for a quick smoke and when they came back inside, Gerard said, “Excuse me while I go brush my teeth like eighty times.”

Frank caught Gerard’s elbow and reeled him in close. “Oh, no you don’t. If I’ve gotta sit around with garlic breath—you’ve gotta sit around with garlic breath.” He pressed in with his mouth, breathing in Gerard’s face so Gerard grabbed his face and kissed him. He tasted more like smoke than garlic but it was buttery and warm so Gerard slipped his tongue into Frank’s mouth. Frank murmured, the vibrations buzzing against Gerard’s lips.

They kissed for a few minutes, hot and spicy (and not from the seasoning in the pasta sauce). Gerard felt overheated in his t-shirt, back warm where Frank had his hands. His nerves sizzled and he pulled away. Frank’s cheeks were rosy and he was smiling. Without a word, he straightened his shirt and led Frank into the living room before things could get any steamier.

Gerard slid ‘The Grudge’ into the DVD player and went around flicking out the lights in the kitchen and the hallway. He left a single low lamp on in the living room near the TV so he wouldn’t get a headache and checked the thermostat.

“You cold?” he asked Frank. Frank shook his head but he was also wearing a sweater. Smart, unlike Gerard in his t-shirt. He rubbed his arms and yanked the blanket off the back of the armchair before joining Frank on the couch. It wasn’t until he had it wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl and had gotten comfortable that he realized he’d sabotaged an opportunity to share the blanket with Frank. There was an awkward foot of space between them so he snuggled into Frank’s side and started the movie.

Quickly, Gerard realized that Frank was terrible to watch a movie with. He talked constantly, muttering at the screen and asking Gerard stupid questions. Everything made him flinch and he even screamed a few times. At least he was good at cuddling and he kept hiding his face in Gerard’s shoulder every time something scary happened. Gerard didn’t mind.

Of course, they were in the middle of the frigging ghost movie when the TV and lamp simultaneously flickered off. Everything went still and silent in an instant. Gerard froze, pretty sure his heart was going to beat right through his chest. He was too startled to move. The hum from the refrigerator was noticeably absent, the house suddenly dead silent. All he could hear was the soft sound of his own breath. Frank was quiet too, not moving a muscle.

“Frank?” Gerard whispered into the dark. He reached out, fumbling for Frank’s hand and gripping it tight when their fingers met.

“What the fuck was that?” Frank whispered back, leaning into Gerard’s shoulder. 

“I think the power went out.”

“Or it’s a ghost.”

“It’s not a ghost,” Gerard said forcefully and a bit louder than he’d intended. Frank flinched at his side. “Sorry. It’s so quiet in here.” He wasn’t sure what to do about it. “I’m sure it’ll come back on soon.” They sat in the dark for what felt like an eternity, breathing in the silence.

Frank gasped and pressed closer to Gerard. “Did you hear that?”

“Um, no.” He listened carefully but heard nothing. Then as he said, “What?” there was a thump upstairs.

“That!” Frank said in a panicked voice. "Did you hear that?"

“Something probably fell. There’s all sorts of crap piled up in the office.”

Frank breathed through his nose and squeezed Gerard’s hand painfully tight. “I don’t wanna sound like an insensitive douche, but did anyone die in this house?”

“No,” Gerard said flatly.

“Your grandma didn’t die here?”

“Ugh, no, Frank. She had a stroke and passed away at the hospital.” Gerard shrugged Frank off his shoulder and tried to pull away. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“I’m _sorry_.” Frank clutched at Gerard’s hand. “But if this house is haunted I need to know.” 

“It’s not haunted.” Gerard made an annoyed noise. “Besides, if my grandmother came back as a ghost she’d be friendly.” 

“But what if”—

“ _Frank_ , please, shut up!” Gerard tried to stand up but Frank wouldn’t let go of him. They struggled for a moment until Gerard freed himself. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna check outside, see if the whole block is out.”

Frank hesitated and then said, “Okay.” He fumbled around until he was holding Gerard’s hand again.

“Are you scared of the dark?” Gerard asked, amused by Frank’s clinginess.

“No. I’m scared of fucking ghosts.” Gerard burst out laughing and then had to apologize when Frank clung to him harder. “Stop laughing. It’s your fault, making me watch that fucking scary movie.”

“I thought you liked scary movies?”

“Not fucking—haunted houses and ghosts and shit.”

“Why didn’t you say something at the video store?”

“Well, I didn’t know we were going to be fucking watching it in a fucking haunted house!” Frank shrieked. Gerard pulled Frank up from the couch and hugged him, trying to stifle his giggle in Frank’s shoulder. Frank huffed in Gerard’s ear like he was mad and slumped against Gerard. “I didn’t want you to know how much of a pussy I am this early in the relationship. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, man.”

“Don’t say that,” Gerard scolded him.

“Relationship?”

“Pussy,” Gerard said. “It’s misogynistic.”

“How about I call you a dick instead? You like that one?”

“You want to sit here alone while I go check the door?”

“No,” Frank said grumpily, clinging to Gerard’s arm. 

“Okay, c’mon. Watch out for the ottoman.” Gerard’s eyes had adjusted enough to avoid the furniture but he didn’t want to trip with Frank attached to him like a leech. Likely knock over a plant or brain himself on the edge of the table by the door. They shuffled into the foyer, Frank squawking when Gerard reached for the door.

“Wait!” Frank put his hand on Gerard’s arm. “What if some psycho cut the power and is standing on the doorstep with a machete, waiting to cut our heads off?”

“This is Jersey—I’m sure they’d use an assault rifle,” Gerard replied as he proceeded to unlock the front door. When he got his hand on the knob and Frank skittered backwards, Gerard hesitated. The wind whipped around outside, howling and blowing debris across the porch. He clenched his jaw and gripped the doorknob tighter. 

He was being ridiculous. There was no one outside. Holding his breath, he turned the knob and hoped for the best. The door whined as Gerard slowly pulled it open to reveal… nothing. There was no axe murderer on his doorstep, just scattered twigs and leaves. A gust of chilly air blew in as he leaned out to look down the street. The streetlights were lit and all of his neighbours seemed to have power.

“Shit. Guess it’s just my house.” He shut the door and relocked it, shivering from the outside air. 

When he turned to manhandle Frank out of the way someone was standing right behind them in the living room.

Gerard shouted, “Oh my God!” and Frank screamed, jumping about a foot in the air. There was another high-pitched scream that had Frank and Gerard clinging to one another.

Another shadowy figure appeared and said, “What the hell?” Fucking, Mikey. Gerard could make out his hair and glasses with the light coming in from the street. “What are you all screaming about?”

“Oh my God,” Gerard said, this time annoyed as fuck. “How did you get upstairs? I didn’t hear you come home.” Now he could see Vickie as well, poking her head out from behind Mikey.

“You guys were in the kitchen,” Mikey said. “We could hear you laughing all the way upstairs.”

“I’m not fucking laughing now,” Frank said grumpily.

“Hey, Frank,” Mikey said. 

“Hey, Frank,” Vickie repeated with a teasing lilt to her voice. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Gee?”

It was a tragedy she couldn’t see the epic eye roll Gerard shot her way. He sighed. “Frank, this is Vickie, Mikey’s what? I dunno… _something_.”

“I’m his girlfriend, _fuckface_. So, what’s going on here? Blind date? Flavour of the week?”

“Fuck off—you’re one to talk.”

“At least this one’s _legal_.”

“Knock it off,” Mikey said. “Gee, why are you two skulking around in the dark?”

“What d’you mean? The power went out.”

“It’s on upstairs.” Mikey fumbled across the room the check a lamp. “Weird. I think there’s a flashlight in the kitchen.”

They all followed Mikey into the kitchen. He rummaged through a drawer until he pulled out a tiny flashlight. He tested it and when its narrow beam lit up the floor in front of him, he flashed the light first at Vickie’s face, then Gerard’s.

“Now, who’s going down to the basement to check the breaker box?”

Why Mikey even asked, Gerard didn’t know. Everyone’s eyes fell to him. It was his house, after all. He snatched the flashlight from Mikey, Frank still hanging off his other arm. The second Gerard had the door to the basement open, Frank dropped it. He scuttled backwards at Gerard’s expectant look. 

“No way, man.” Frank shook his head. “I told you I have a thing about spiders. The basement is like, spider basecamp.”

Gerard flashed the bright beam down the stairs into the basement and then back to Frank. “You’re seriously gonna make me go down there alone?”

Frank crossed his arms and frowned. “I thought you weren’t scared?”

“I’m not.” Gerard thought about it and snapped, arms flailing around. “Well, I wasn’t until you started going on about ghosts and axe murderers and shit!”

“Mikey Way,” Frank said as he pulled out his wallet. “I will give you—fuck—thirteen dollars if you go down there with him. Please.”

Mikey laughed and shook his head vigorously.

Gerard huffed and shone the light down the stairs. He’d been in the basement a million times. At night even. Rationally, he knew there was nothing to be afraid of. Ghosts and ghouls, zombies and axe murderers—they weren’t real. People were scary. People frightened him more than anything and he knew no one was hiding in his basement. Probably not.

But it was quiet down there. Eerily still and dark. Cold, dry air was creeping up the stairs followed by the smell of dust and decay. The first step creaked like a tree keening in the wind and Gerard nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped his head around and gave Frank a desperate look.

“Oh my fucking God— _okay_.” Frank stomped across the kitchen to crowd Gerard on the stairs. “If there’s anything alive down there I won’t hesitate to leave you alone.”

“Deal,” Gerard replied. With Frank at his back, he descended the old wooden steps carefully. All of them creaked and groaned under their weight but now that he expected it, it wasn’t so bad. They went slowly and when they got to the bottom, Gerard lit up the tiny hallway, searching for signs of motion. But there was nothing but the low drone of the furnace in the other room.

The basement was divided into a self-contained storage room and a hall that led to an open area where the washer and dryer were, along with the water heater, furnace and the fuse box. Gerard passed the beam of light across the door to the storage room and found it was slightly ajar. Even with the flashlight, they couldn’t see into the room, the inch of space taunting them in the darkness. Frank squeezed Gerard’s arm and urged him onwards.

They scuffled across the dusty cement floor and when they passed the room, Gerard held his breath and quickly pulled the door closed. The latch didn’t catch on the first try and Frank cursed beside him, yanking on his arm to keep moving.

They stopped at the end of the hall so Gerard could do another inspection with the flashlight. The hum of the furnace was loud and ominous with grates rattling, pipes hissing and a low drone pulsing through the room. Frank was plastered to Gerard’s back, so close he could feel every hot breath on his neck. If they weren’t in the basement it might be arousing, but as they were, it was making him feel claustrophobic. He spotted the fuse box and the next step he took had Frank screaming like a banshee in his ear.

“Ohmygod! What!” Gerard jumped and yelled after him.

“Something touched my face! Something touched my face!” Frank scrubbed his face and shook his hands through his hair like a maniac. Gerard shone the light right over his head and brushed a hand through Frank’s hair.

“There’s nothing there. It was probably my hair when I moved—you were standing so close you were breathing on my neck.”

Frank made a sour face and shuddered. “I don’t like this.”

“C’mon. Electric box is over there.” Gerard swung the beam around and took Frank’s hand. He wasn’t scared but he didn’t want his bravery challenged if Frank decided to run screaming back up the stairs.

Finding the box was the easy part. When Gerard opened it, he was dismayed to see two columns of fuses instead of breaker switches like at his old house. The labels on them read like chicken scratch and most of the glass knobs had yellowed with age. He inspected them for a ridiculous amount of time, tapping and squinting before he admitted to Frank he had no clue what to do. In his head, he’d imagined opening the box to find one big switch that he could flip and that would be it.

“Great! Let’s get the fudge outta here!” Frank practically dragged Gerard out of the room and back upstairs so Gerard could call his dad.

Naturally, his dad had all the answers, especially since he’d been in with an electrician last year. When Gerard told him everything was out downstairs his dad said it was probably one of the bigger cartridge fuses. Gerard took the phone into the basement with his dad on the line. He walked him through where they were and which one to replace. There was a cheer from upstairs and Gerard thanked his dad. When he hung up the phone and went back upstairs he felt less scared and more embarrassed about having to call him in the first place.

Gerard picked up the remaining DVDs and waved one in each hand. “House of 1000 Corpses or The Life Aquatic?” The flat look Frank gave him was answer enough. “Bill Murray it is!” Gerard popped in the disc and they watched the movie with every single light on.

*

Gerard didn’t see Frank again until the night of the show. He wandered the halls, biting at his nails and scanning faces for familiar ones. The auditorium buzzed with action. It was the big night for his drama class. For most of them, it would be their first time performing in front of a large audience. They were currently freaking out in a classroom down the hall. 

Gerard had left Brendon in charge and warned him to keep an eye out for signs of nausea. On top of everything else, Gerard couldn’t handle the kids puking over their nerves.

His parents were coming and so was Frank. Frank was going to meet his parents. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, but he was nervous. Couple that with his desire to impress everyone with his teaching skills and his emotions were running high. He prayed the night wouldn't end with him in tears.

His parents arrived first with Mikey in tow. When his mom hugged him, he caught Mikey's eye over her shoulder and got a salty look back. He was still being all moody about Vickie. Not that she’d be there—Mikey hadn’t told their parents. He was probably annoyed that Brendon had stayed over last night. Rehearsal had gone late so Gerard had invited him over afterwards to eat the leftovers in the fridge from his date with Frank.

Gerard smiled at Mikey to indicate a truce. Mikey rolled his eyes like Gerard was the one being overdramatic and then his mom started fussing with his hair.

“Ma, leave him alone. He's a teacher,” Mikey said.

“He's fine,” she replied. “Are you nervous, honey?”

“The kids are, but I know they'll be great. They've been practicing so hard. I think... hang on—I see Frank.” His mom’s face lit up and his heart beat a little faster.

Frank was poking his way through the crowd. Gerard beelined for the dark head popping in and out of view. Nearly everyone was taller than him so it was impossible to keep him in sight. They missed each other and Gerard had to reach out and grab Frank's sleeve, stopping him in place. The couple he had interrupted parted and he reeled Frank in with a big grin.

Frank’s face lit up. “Hi! Fancy meeting you here!”

“You made it.” Gerard squeezed Frank's arm through his jacket. It bothered him, but that was the limit of affection he could show while standing amongst teachers and parents. 

“Wow.” Frank unzipped his jacket and leaned in to whisper in Gerard’s ear. “I bet you’re the hottest teacher at this school. I hope you don’t teach classes in that getup.”

Gerard coloured and scolded Frank. He owned exactly one nice black suit. It fit well but it was hardly anything special.

“You ready to meet my parents?” With his hair neatly combed, his boots shined and his jeans pristine and hole-free, Frank looked like he’d gone all out and Gerard was thoroughly charmed.

“Did you wear a tie?” Gerard exclaimed. He tucked his fingers into the top of Frank's jacket to pry it out. 

“Shaddup.” Frank swatted his hand away as his lip quirked up in a smirk. “I’m trying to make a good first impression.”

They threaded through the crowd and Gerard's heart picked up again. His mom spotted them and waved, a wide smile on her face. Gerard introduced everyone and his mom embarrassed him by going in for a hug. His dad shook Frank's hand without a second glance at the tattoos on his knuckles. When his mom asked Frank about his band, he lit up and started talking animatedly. Mikey elbowed Gerard and side-eyed him. He let out the breath he’d been holding.

He could relax, but not for long.

“Gerard!” He heard Brendon's cry for help before he saw him. “The kids are driving me bananas!” Crashing their circle, he grabbed Gerard by the forearms, shaking him as he said, “It's like 'Lord of the Flies' in there. Daniel has them running lines like a drill sergeant and Katie is putting blue eyeshadow on everyone. I told her this isn't ‘Cabaret’ and she tried to put discount mousse in my hair.” Brendon slumped into Gerard's shoulder. “I'm exhausted.” He glanced around and said, “Oh! Hello Way family! Sorry, I'm being totally rude. You must be Frank,” he added, thrusting his hand out and pumping vigorously when Frank accepted it.

“I'm going to take my parents into the auditorium and then I'll go calm the troops.”

When Gerard moved, Brendon blocked his path and replied, “Noooo, it's operation critical in there.” He offered Gerard's mom his arm and said, “I'll show you to your seats.”

As soon as they were out of sight, Frank doubled-over braying with laughter. Gerard looked to Mikey but he looked equally confused. Frank elbowed Mikey and said, “That's Brendon? Seriously, dude, you thought I'd be jealous of him?” Mikey frowned and Frank cackled some more. “He's sweet, but dude—he's a ba-by!”

“He’s practically living at our house,” Mikey said.

“I'm not worried.” Frank re-adjusted his tie, giving Gerard a sly look.

“You're terrible,” Gerard said to Frank. “Now both of you—go find your seats. I'll see you after the show.”

They wished him luck and Gerard hurried off to tend to his panicked students. In the end, there were enough confident kids and melodramatic divas to balance out the ones stricken by stage fright. Gerard gave them a pep talk reminding them to do their best and not to worry about being perfect. Everyone was there to support them and would be proud no matter what. One kid yawned and another fake-barfed, but otherwise, his speech went over well.

When they were called to the stage, Brendon led them in a group cheer and Gerard gave them all high-fives as they walked out of the room. He followed them down the hall and up the stairs to the backstage area where the stage manager was sternly shushing everyone. The audience applauded. 

It was time. Gerard wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks. The kids filed out, slipping through the curtains in the dark to take their places on stage.

The show went off without a hitch. A couple of kids had to call for lines but they did a great job; Brendon's piano playing was a huge hit and they walked off stage with heads held high. Gerard couldn't stop smiling as he congratulated them. The kids were hopping around with excitement and for once it was Brendon telling everyone to calm down. By the time the kids had changed clothes and wiped off their make-up, the final group had performed and the masses were filtering into the lobby.

With Brendon trailing behind him, Gerard managed to find all the people he cared about clustered together outside the building. There was a round of congratulations and Gerard invited everyone back to his and Mikey's place to celebrate.

They filtered in the front door and right away Gerard's mom shucked off her heels and started poking around the living room. She gushed over their decorating choices as though she had imagined they'd be living like animals, or worse, college students on a thrift store budget.

“Anyone want soda?” Mikey asked. “Gee bought snacks. I'm gonna get the food out.” Brendon, who had been doing everything in his power to win Mikey's affection, volunteered to help and trailed after him. Gerard's mom hollered for Mikey to put coffee on and headed upstairs. Unaccompanied. Gerard was torn but he couldn’t let his mom nose around his bedroom unsupervised. He left Frank alone with his dad, mouthing a ‘Sorry’ before chasing after her. 

It was a smart move because she went straight into his bedroom and started inspecting his new dresser. He caught up in time to stop her from opening the top drawer. “Jesus, Ma! Boundaries!”

“Please, dear, I'm your mother,” she tutted. “Mere weeks ago I was still washing your underwear.” While that was true, there were things in that drawer—namely, lacy undergarments—that he never wanted his mother to see. He led her to the other side of the room to show her his grandmother's art on the wall. “Alright, dear. I won't poke around in here.” She bumped his shoulder. “The room looks nice. I'm glad you finally moved in.”

“Me too. The couch upstairs was so uncomfortable.”

“I bet it was,” she said. “I heard Frank helped you paint and put your bed together. Your… Frank—is he coming over for Christmas? Should I set an extra place at the table?” 

“Subtle, ma,” Gerard muttered. “No, he won’t be—he’s got his own family shit to do.”

“Just dating then? Is it serious?”

Gerard sighed. “How much have you heard?” She responded with a guilty shrug, giving away Mikey and his fat gob. “I like him. Lay off the pushy questions tonight and we'll see what happens.”

“I’m not pushy.” Her hand flew to her chest in protest. “I only want you to be happy.”

“You know what I mean. You and Dad. Don't grill him like I’m your virgin daughter and he's the second coming. Speaking of, we should get back downstairs before Dad tries to recruit him for the next civil war reenactment.”

“Honey, I still haven’t seen the attic and oh—have you done anything with the study?”

“The study’s full of boxes. We got a futon but we're still trying to figure out what we're keeping and where we should put Gram's stuff. Brendon sleeps there when he stays over. I haven't done anything with the studio but paint in it. It looks exactly the same.”

“Gerard, I want to see the art you've been working on.”

Gerard sighed dramatically. “Yeah, okay.” He couldn't say no to that.

They didn't spend a lot of time in the attic. Long enough for Gerard to show his mom a couple of paintings he was working on and for her to comment on the couch that was older than Gerard. She winked at him and he didn’t ask her to elaborate.

By the time Gerard and his mom went downstairs, he was jittery with anxiety. He needed his parents to like Frank. Clearly, his mom could tell, because she gave his shoulder a rub and reassured him before they walked into the kitchen. 

They were talking about football. Well, his dad, Mikey, and Frank were talking and gesturing wildly about a goal or a game score or something. Brendon looked constipated like he was working out a math equation in his head. His dad patted Frank on the back and said he was lucky that he was a Jets fan. Frank chuckled and Gerard breathed out a sigh of relief.

“You boys.” His mom shook her head and poured herself a coffee. “Have you been talking about football this entire time?”

By the look on Brendon's face, they had. 

There were napkins, bowls of chips and a veggie tray with dip all neatly laid out on the table. Brendon’s doing, for sure. Mikey wouldn’t have used the nice bowls or thought to put out napkins. Gerard grabbed a coffee and a chair before squeezing between Frank and his dad. When Frank nudged his shoulder they shared a moment of fond gazing before they were interrupted. 

“Don, hon, enough with the football talk,” his mom said. On the verge of a reply, his mom added, “No sports at all. Look, you're boring Brendon to death over there.”

Brendon sat up straight and shook his head. “No, no, not at all.”

“It's okay, Bren. I don’t get it either.” Gerard gave him a sympathetic smile and Brendon blew out a long breath as though he was deflating. Then to Gerard, he whispered, “I didn’t understand a single word.”

Gerard laughed. “Don’t even try—it's boring as shit.”

Frank’s mouth gaped open. Then he shook his head and put a hand to his heart. “You wound me.”

Veering off the subject of sports, his mom focussed on Frank, firing innocuous questions at him one by one. To his credit, he answered them all with ease. Did he have siblings? What did his parents do? Where does he live? Has he always lived in Jersey? Did he go to school? Does he have a job? 

Every question had Gerard’s insides coiling tighter and tighter. When he finished his coffee, he picked at his nails, willing her to stop. How wicked would it be to kick his mom under the table? Not hard. Just enough to derail her. He nudged Mikey instead, shooting him a desperate look.

“Ma,” Mikey interrupted. “Did you see Gee’s paintings?” She stopped abruptly and glanced between her two sons, flashing that stern ‘Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to’ look.

Gerard slumped in his chair. He nudged Frank with a shoulder and squeezed his leg under the table. They shared a meaningful look. Gerard knit his brows together in apology and Frank shrugged like he didn't mind.

It was after midnight when Gerard let out a gaping yawn. His mom checked the time and decided it was time to leave, adding that they shouldn’t keep Gerard up on a school night. They headed out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with Frank. 

As Frank stood up and stretched, Gerard slid his arms around Frank’s waist from his sitting position. He laid his head on Frank’s stomach so Frank would pet his hair. With a sigh, Gerard said, “I’d ask you to stay over, but...”

“You're about to fall asleep and you have work in the morning,” Frank finished. “All good.” 

Frank pulled him up out of the chair and into an embrace and they kissed briefly. Gerard gave Frank's lip ring a tiny tug with his teeth before he pulled away. “Are you free tomorrow night? You wanna come over?”

Frank touched his face and kissed him once, looking pleased with himself. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

They allowed themselves one final, lingering kiss before separating. Gerard ignored the stirring in his groin. He interlaced their hands even though Frank was leaving. “My parents can give you a ride.”

“Nah, it’s outta their way.”

“It’s late and you’re not that far. My mom will insist anyway. If you can handle another twenty minutes with her, that is?” Frank nodded because he was a saint.

Gerard stood in the doorway waving as Frank rode away with his parents. He hoped Mikey and Brendon were tidying up the kitchen, but they weren’t. He could see them standing at the side of the house in the driveway. Mikey must have discovered that Brendon had weed. At least they'd have something to bond over. Maybe they’d get high together and become besties. Wouldn’t that be a dream?

As he cleared the kitchen table, he heard raises voices outside. Mikey barrelled through the side door, slamming it harder than necessary behind him. Gerard started loading the dishwater.

“Is he staying overnight again?” Mikey asked.

“I dunno.” Gerard looked up at Mikey like he was nuts. “Why didn't you ask Brendon yourself? You were just out there talking to him?”

“I did ask him, and he got all twitchy about it.” 

“Well, you're kind of mean to him. I think he's scared of you.”

“Gee, he's out there smoking up.”

Gerard barked out a laugh as he closed the dishwasher. 

“I'm serious,” Mikey said. “Can't you smell it in here?” 

“I know he smokes,” Gerard replied. “We talked about it. It's cool. It’s not like he does it in the house.”

“It's not cool.” Mikey glared at him over the top of his glasses. “How come you never told me?” 

“Because I knew you'd get all,” —Gerard’s eyebrows knit together as he waved his hands at Mikey— “Like this.” 

Mikey folded his arms. “Well, I don't want him over here anymore. You said it’s my house too, and if I didn’t like it you’d ask him not to.”

Gerard shot him an incredulous look. “Why? Because of the weed? Jesus Christ, Mikey, don't give me that look—I know you smoke too. You don't hide it as well as you think you do.” 

Mikey made an exasperated noise and looked away. “Don't you think it's weird that he's sleeping over and Frank isn't?”

“No. It's completely different. For starters, we're not even sleeping in the same room.” Gerard frowned. “Don't you think it's weird that you're more concerned about him sleeping over than Frank is?”

“He's a fucking pothead, Gerard. You're an alcoholic. You have a history of abusing. You don't see anything wrong with this combination? Can't you see the problem here?”

“I'm an adult, Mikey. I get to decide what is and isn't a problem for me. And Brendon smoking? Not a fucking problem. I don’t understand where all this hostility towards Brendon is coming from. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” 

“I smell dope.” Vickie strolled in. “Can I get in on that shit?” She glanced between the two brothers as though she hadn’t just appeared in their house.

Gerard’s eyes went wide. “When the fuck did you get here?”

“Uh, just now.” She motioned at the door.

“How did you get in?”

She rattled her keys in the air. “I have keys.”

Gerard turned his astonishment on Mikey as his eyes got bigger.

“Yeah, so what?” Mikey looked back and forth between them. “She’s my girlfriend and I gave her a key. It’s my house too.”

“It’s just a key.” Vickie wrapped herself around Mikey’s arm and leaned into him. “You should be happy for us.” 

Mikey muttered, “You’re such a hypocrite,” and suddenly, Gerard was shouting. “What the fuck Mikey? You’re pissed because Brendon stays over once in a while and you gave her fucking keys without telling me? You want to fuck around with her? Go ahead. You want to hide it from mom and dad? I don’t care. But she is not moving into my house. No fucking way.”

“So, it’s your house now?”

“It is if you’re gonna be an asshole about it and keep shit from me!”

“Oh, I’m the asshole? You’re the one taking sides. I’m your brother. You’re supposed to be on my side. Don’t I get a say on who lives in this house? Are you saying that if Vickie and I want to live together then I have to move out? Why? So your pothead friend can move in? You know what, Gee? You’re the one fucking with my head. All I do is worry about you, and you won’t even listen to me. I’m trying to help you stay sober.”

“I don’t need you to worry about me and I sure as hell don’t need you to help me stay sober. I’m a fucking adult, Mikey, not a child. I’m not helpless and I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Fine,” Mikey snapped. “Then I guess I’ll go fucking pack my shit right now.” He gave Gerard one last hardened glare and then stalked out. Vickie had the sense to look bewildered and chased after him.

Frozen in place, he listened to Mikey stomp up the stairs, staring at the kitchen door. His hands were shaking and his chest tight. He struggled to catch his breath.

The side door creaked open. Brendon had a grim look on his face.

Gerard ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, was that loud?”

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” Brendon said. “I know your brother doesn’t like me.”

Gerard shook his head. “It's not about you.”

“It's okay.” Brendon studied the linoleum. “I can’t stay anyway. I'm flying to Vegas tomorrow to stay with my sister for the break.”

“You are?” That caught Gerard off guard. “You never said.”

“Last minute thing, you know.” Brendon scooped up his bag and bolted for the door.

“Are you still coming to class tomorrow afternoon? The kids’ll be bummed if you don’t show up.”

“Yeah, sure.” Brendon opened the door and Gerard grabbed his arm. “Wait. Brendon, come on. You shouldn’t be driving right now.”

“I'm fine. I'd have to smoke a hell of a lot more than that before I couldn't drive.”

“You can’t leave like this,” Gerard said firmly. 

Brendon shook his arm out of Gerard's grip and frowned. “You can’t tell me what to do.” With that, he spun around and marched out.

Gerard followed him outside, immediately shaking in the cold. “I’m sorry—I’m asking. If you don’t want to sleep here, I’ll drive you home myself. I can bring your car to you in the morning.”

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Brendon got into his car and drove off without looking back.

With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Gerard went upstairs. Mikey’s room was silent.

Despite his state of mind, he remembered to take his meds. He put on his pyjamas and got into bed, but was too worked up to sleep. As he lay there, silent tears squeezed out the corners of his eyes and ran down the sides of his face. He thought about calling Frank to talk but he didn't want to ruin the nice evening they'd had. At least Frank wasn’t mad at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the hiatus. Life got busy and I fell out of the groove. Thanks again for all the lovely comments. Knowing people are still reading this keeps me going. Happy Halloween and Happy Reunion Anniversary to all!!! xxx


	13. Everybody's Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning: explicit sex

When Gerard’s alarm went off the next morning, he slapped the snooze button and flopped backwards, granting himself another nine minutes to be idle. He’d woken up grinding his dick into the mattress and thinking about how good Frank had looked in his suit last night. How he’d look even better without it. Eight minutes. If he wanted to jerk off he’d have to make it quick. He gave his dick a squeeze before fishing lube out of the bedside table and squirting a generous amount into the palm of his hand. Seven minutes. Closing his eyes, he burrowed under the blankets and slipped his hand under the waistband of his pyjama pants.

Gerard took his dick in his hand and thought back to when he’d had Frank in his bed. When Frank had kissed him with intention and desperation instead of the sweet, easy kisses of last night when he’d been holding back. He wanted Frank naked and loose-limbed and begging. His soft mouth on Gerard’s skin and lips wrapped around his cock. Smooth and hot, he licked his lips and quickened his stroke. 

Frank’s head between his legs and his tattooed fingers up his ass. A rush of heat and Gerard came with Frank’s name falling from his lips. He was sweaty but sated. He wiped his hand on his pyjamas and sighed into his pillow.

_Beep-beep-beep!_ Gerard groaned and turned off the alarm. He sat up, cringing at the come slicking his thigh and rubbed his eyes with his clean hand. It was then that he remembered the fight last night. First Mikey, then Brendon. His thoughts grew dark. Doom and gloom. He resisted the urge to crawl back under the covers and never come out again.

He showered and dressed, mindful of the dark cloud weighing him down. The house was usually quiet in the morning, but today he felt it in his heart. He cast a forlorn look down the hall—the spare room sat empty and Mikey’s door was closed. Gerard felt the tug of abandonment and hurried downstairs.

He startled when he walked into the kitchen. Mikey had his back to him and didn’t turn around when Gerard stopped in the doorway. The coffee pot was full but he waited for Mikey to finish buttering his toast before he cautiously went for a mug. Mikey cut his eyes at him and stalked out of the room. Gerard sighed and filled a travel mug so he could get the fuck outta there.

He bundled up, grabbed his bag and bleary-eyed, went out into the cold. One step out the door and he stopped mid-stride—his car was gone. He searched his pockets for his keys and came up empty-handed. He squinted up at the bright sun and blew out a puff of white breath. Was he dreaming?

“What the fuck?” He looked up and down the driveway. Nothing happened. His fingers were going numb and his car didn’t magically appear. He stood there shivering and waiting for something to happen. “What the fucking fuck?” 

He went back inside, tossed his things on the counter and went back out for another look. Nope. Still no car. He lit a cigarette and paced the driveway, smoking furiously. The light was giving him a headache and he was going to be late for his appointment with Brian.

He stomped into the living room. “My fucking car is gone.”

Mikey looked up, furrowing his brow.

“Someone stole my car.” Gerard crossed his arms. “Where’s Vickie?”

“In my room, asleep.” Mikey put his plate on the coffee table and sat up straight. “Are you sure it’s gone?”

Gerard huffed and starting tapped his foot on the hardwood floor. “Yes, I’m fucking sure it’s gone. My keys are missing, too.” He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Maybe the kid stole your car.”

Gerard huffed and took a moment to control his volume. “He left last night. And he has a car.”

“Yeah, but have you seen it?”

“Yes, Mikey, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. He has a fucking ugly-ass purple Escort.”

“Maybe he sold yours for drug money.”

Yeah, right. A powder blue 1984 Caprice Classic? Not fucking likely. Gerard tore at his nails. “I don’t get it. How could someone break in without actually breaking anything and steal my keys?”

In reply, a car rumbled into the driveway and the engine shut off. Gerard bolted to the kitchen, yanking the door open in time to see Vickie kicking the driver’s side door shut. He was going to fucking kill her. With an ignorant smile, she strolled in, brandishing a paper bag and a tray of takeaway cups.

“Why did you take my car?” Gerard clenched his fists to keep from grabbing her and shaking a confession out of her.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“I hate surprises. And I hate people lying to me.” He turned his glare on Mikey.

Mikey’s shoulders went up. “I didn’t know! I thought she was still upstairs, sleeping!”

“I snuck out while he was in the bathroom.”

“I can’t believe you stole my car!” Gerard was wide-eyed and felt a bit crazy.

Vickie pushed past him, setting the drinks on the table. “Don’t be so dramatic. I didn’t steal it.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, unravelling her scarf from her neck. “Who on earth would steal that hunk of junk, anyway? It drives like a boat on a broken skateboard and it looks like you sacrificed a Smurf village to upholster the interior. So much blue, oh my God!” She motioned at the table. “I _borrowed_ it so I could get you guys coffee and donuts. I thought it would make up for the whole misunderstanding about the key.”

“Misunderstanding?” Gerard said in disbelief. “The only misunderstanding is you thinking you live here now. You fucking don’t!”

“Uh, Gee, you’re gonna be late for your appointment.” Mikey gestured at the clock.

Gerard shook his head in disbelief. “Oh my fucking God!” he shouted uncontrollably. He huffed out a few breaths and clenched his shaking hands into fists. Instead of losing his shit, he snatched his keys out of Vickie’s hand and stormed out. 

*

He tried to calm down as he made the drive to Montclair, chugging lukewarm coffee from his travel mug and blinking at the road. Fucking Brian was in for it today. It was a good thing he charged an exorbitant hourly rate.

Gerard started talking as he collapsed onto the sofa. His words came with such fury his sentences ran together and probably made little sense. He gestured frantically and lost track of thoughts. Brian let him run his mouth all over the place for a couple of minutes before he intervened. 

“Gerard, breathe.”

He stopped abruptly, glaring at Brian, but breathing steadily nonetheless as Brian attempted to talk him through his temporary madness.

“Mikey and I have never fought like this before.”

“He’s your brother. You’re living together. It’s bound to happen.”

“We’ve always lived together.”

“Not on your own like this.”

“There’s this girl, Vickie—I’ve told you about her before. She’s dated and dumped Mikey so many times I’ve lost count. She gets in his head and he turns into a different person.”

“Mikey’s an adult. He makes his own choices, as do you.”

“He gave her keys to the house without telling me. This morning, she stole my car and acted like it was no big deal!”

“It sounds like you and your brother need to have a discussion about boundaries. If you can’t work it out, it may not be in your best interest to keep living together.”

“Do you think it’s weird that I’m hanging out with a seventeen-year-old pothead?”

“Do you think it’s weird?”

“I don’t know anymore.” Gerard canted his head and picked at his nails. “I guess I can relate to him. He’s gone through a lot of shit, too. And he’s fun to hang out with him. He’s mature for seventeen. And, okay, I want to help him too. Is that so wrong?”

“There’s helping and then there’s fixing someone you think is broken and needs saving? You have to think about that. There’s nothing wrong with having friends of different ages.”

“He smokes pot and Mikey thinks it’s gonna knock me off the wagon.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m fine with it. It’s Mikey who has a problem with it. He doesn’t trust me.”

“Your brother can think whatever he wants. You can’t fix whatever he’s going through either. Gerard, their problems are not yours to solve. And your problems are for you to work out regardless of everyone else’s opinion. You know this.” 

Gerard sighed and slumped back into the stiff cushions. Yeah, yeah—nothing new. One of Gerard’s talents was avoiding his issues by focusing on other people. Their problems were more important than his own. He didn’t deserve to be helped. Yada yada yada.

Brian knew about Frank. And although Gerard’s newest obsession was waxing poetic to anyone who would listen about how amazing Frank was, he wasn’t thrilled that his psychiatrist actually listened. He asked too many questions. Brian had seen Gerard through the train wreck of a relationship with Bert, so unfortunately, Brian’s interest in Gerard’s sex life was professional.

“We were about to have sex and I freaked out.”

“What specifically triggered it?”

“Ugh.” Gerard stared at the carpet. The last thing he wanted to do on a Friday morning was listen to his shrink psychoanalyze one of his kinks. “He held me down and I couldn’t move and before you say anything, it’s not like I haven’t been tied up before. It’s a turn on, not a trigger for a panic attack.”

Brian didn’t bat an eye. “You’re under a great deal of stress.”

“You think I stopped an attractive man that I’m totally into from having sex with me because I’m stressed out?” Gerard said flatly.

“Stress can do that.” Brian gave him a pointed look. “In the last couple of months, you’ve started a new job, lost your grandmother, moved into a new house and started a new relationship. And Gerard, that harassment you experienced at the party a few months ago? I know you don’t like talking about it, but this is how things you ignore manifest themselves.”

Gerard made a face and Brian made one right back that said Gerard was behaving like a juvenile. 

“I know, I know.” Gerard huffed and stared at his hands as he dug his fingers into his thighs. “I just want to be normal for a change. Have sex with my boyfriend without all of my fucking trauma getting in the way.”

“Boyfriend, huh?”

“I told Frank about the accident. Like, the whole story.” Gerard looked up to see the surprise on Brian’s face. He straightened up and leaned forward in his chair. His expression lifted like he’d cracked the code and Gerard suddenly regretted telling him. 

“Gerard, good for you. That’s huge.” Brian was beaming and Gerard wanted to puke.

“I guess,” he muttered.

“Honestly, Gerard. Sometimes I wish I could shake you out of yourself so you could see well you’re doing and how far you’ve come. You should be proud.”

Gerard picked at his nails. “So… you don’t think I’m having some sort of mental breakdown and I’m going to have panic attacks whenever I want to have sex?”

“You’re anxious and these things that are happening to you are completely out of your control. You trust Frank and without warning, he physically removed your control over the situation. It’s no surprise it triggered you.” 

“Will it happen again?”

Brian looked him dead in the eye. “It might. Why don’t you take it slow and see how you feel?”

“I don’t want to take it slow,” Gerard grumbled.

“Are you sleeping enough?”

“Probably not.”

“If I gave you a prescription for something mild that would help you sleep, would you take it?”

“Probably not.” Getting laid would help him sleep, but he’d overshared with Brian enough for the day. He had to draw the line somewhere.

*

Gerard spent the rest of the morning at school, nursing the sinking feeling that Brendon wasn’t going to show up to his drama class. The students were all in vacation mode so Gerard let his art class go early. He spent the lunch hour in his office doodling on Christmas cards for his family. Even though he wasn’t sure he’d see Brendon again before Christmas, he made one for him too, stuffing it with cash. He had already paid Brendon for the class but he deserved a bonus for all the drama he’d dealt with. On the front, he drew a bunch of cats in pyjamas decorating a tree and on the inside, he wrote out a note thanking him for his help with the students and how he was glad to have him as a friend. Goddammit, he was feeling sappy.

He tucked the card in his bag and went to greet his drama class. As they trampled in, he cringed at the tinsel and sparkles getting tracked around the room. Glitter, the herpes of arts and crafts. Thank fuck he didn’t have to vacuum. Feeling guilty, he said a silent prayer for the school janitor.

They played Christmas carols and ate gingerbread cookies baked by someone’s mom. When they asked where Brendon was, he told them the truth—he didn’t know.

Halfway through the period, Brendon showed up wearing a Santa hat and a sweatshirt with Snoopy dressed like a Christmas tree on it. He also brought a box of red and green cupcakes. The students descended on him like vultures. Brendon caught Gerard’s eye hesitantly. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rambling an apology for last night. Gerard brushed it off with a smile, relieved Brendon didn’t seem angry.

“I hope you didn’t want a cupcake.” Brendon stuck the Santa hat on Gerard’s head.

“I’m good,” Gerard replied, straightening the hat on his head. “What time’s your flight?”

“Um, later today. I’m going to the airport right after class.”

“I can give you a ride if you want?”

“It’s cool. I’m gonna leave my car at the airport.”

“When are you coming back?”

“When classes start.” Brendon gave him a wary look. “What’s with all the questions?”

“No, nothing.” Gerard raised his hands. “I wondered if you’d be around to hang out over the break, that’s all.”

Brendon crossed his arms and picked a spot on his sweatshirt where the print was flaking. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think we should hang out so much. I’ve… got an extra class and I’m gonna be real busy this semester.”

“You know you can study at my place. And the piano—you can still use it to practice.”

“It’s better if I don’t.”

“Why? Because of Mikey? I’m sorry he’s being a jerk, but it’s my house.”

“No, it’s…” Brendon sighed and reluctantly met Gerard’s eyes. “You’re a nice person but I think you’ve confused this working relationship with friendship.” Brendon chose his words carefully as he gave Gerard a sort of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech like he was breaking up with him. Gerard stood there in shock as he took it all in.

Brendon finished with, “You hired me to help with the class and now the play is over. It was fun but it’s over now. I’m not your friend and I certainly don’t need another adult in my life telling me what to do.”

“What?” Gerard flinched like he’d been stung. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.”

His shoulders sagged. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t even maintain a friendship with a college student? He dismissed the class and as the kids screeched and stomped out the door, he handed Brendon the card and wished him a Merry Christmas. Brendon said a polite ‘Thanks’ and then left without another word.

He knew it was immature, but he sulked the entire way home.

*

When Gerard got home he immediately face-planted on the sofa even though it wasn’t particularly comfortable. He thought about taking a shower for a long time before he got up. He moved because he couldn’t shake the idea of having a stiff drink out of his head.

He stood in the shower for ages, hot water pounding on his back as he soaped every inch of his body. Skin red and flushed with heat, he towelled off and shook his head, spraying droplets of water everywhere. He slipped into a clean t-shirt and his nice jeans that hugged his ass. His bed was a crumpled mess, so he shook out the duvet and swapped his sheets for clean ones that smelled mountain fresh.

Feeling rebellious, he went down to the kitchen barefoot. He tidied up—sweeping the floor and unloading the dishwasher—partially for something to do and partially because Frank was coming over. Then he sifted through the stack of take-out menus beside the fridge, separating the ones with Frank-friendly food. When he ran out of things to do in the kitchen, he grabbed a can of Diet Coke from the fridge and his sketchbook from his bag. He curled up on the sofa, sitting cross-legged to tuck in his cold toes while he waited for Frank to arrive.

When one relied on public transit, punctuality became more of a concept than an actuality. Gerard glanced at the clock now and then, but tried not to fixate on the time; Frank would get there when he could. He had band practice and didn’t know when they’d finish, so he’d turned down Gerard’s offer to pick him up. Since Frank was at the forefront of his mind, he drew him from memory and soon lost himself in hard, dark lines and smudged shadows.

The doorbell startled him—his pencil tumbled out of his hand, spearing itself into the rug. His heart pitter-pattered as he quickly retrieved it and tucked it into his sketchbook before hurrying to the front door. 

The wind blew in the chill, carrying with it tiny flakes of snow and his well-bundled boyfriend. Cold air nipped at his face and he quickly shut the door behind him. Frank greeted him with a big stupid grin and Gerard’s heart lurched. He wanted this to last. Frank was special and some broken part of Gerard made him feel unworthy like he didn’t deserve him. The thought niggled away at him and he clenched his jaw, swallowing it down. If this was fleeting he could at least enjoy it now.

Unaware of Gerard’s inner turmoil, Frank seized his cheeks and pulled him down for a kiss. Both Frank’s lips and nose were ice cold. Gerard did his best to warm him up, rubbing their faces together and breathing hot air into Frank’s mouth. When Gerard slipped him the tongue, Frank made a surprised noise but fell into it with fervour.

They kissed until Frank giggled and pulled away. “Hold on.” In a flurry of garments, Frank shed his outerwear and kicked off his boots, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Gerard’s feet had gone numb from standing on the snow-dampened mat so he backed up a few steps into the living room. He wiggled his toes, digging them into the rug to bring them back to life.

Frank noticed and crowded his space, propping his socked toes over Gerard’s and rubbing up and down the goosebumps on his arms. He was about to speak when Gerard cut him off with another kiss, sighing into Frank’s mouth.

“How was your day?” Frank casually asked as he worked his fingers under the sleeves of Gerard’s t-shirt. He stretched it out of shape, rubbing his thumbs along Gerard’s collarbone. Gerard hummed at the contact and then frowned.

“Bad,” he replied as he smoothed his hands over Frank’s chest. His flannel shirt was lamb-soft and Gerard couldn’t decide if he wanted to rub his hands all over it or take it off. Frank’s body underneath was firm and so warm.

“Bad?” Frank moved one hand to brush Gerard’s back behind his ear. “What happened?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” He shook his head resolutely. “I’d rather do this.” Slowly, Gerard’s hands roamed up and down and around. He drew up the hem of Frank’s t-shirt, sliding his fingers up the bare skin on his back. Frank shuddered and closed the space between them. His gaze grew intense. They might be alone in the house but it felt like they were somewhere else entirely, secluded from the rest of the world. Gerard was overcome with it. Panic, insecurity and hesitation could fuck off. He wanted this. He wanted Frank and nothing else. And Frank was looking at him like he wanted that too.

Frank’s mouth was open, breathing hot on Gerard’s neck so it was easy to dip down to kiss him. Pull him in with his mouth. Tongue hot and heavy, he opened Frank up until he was loose and pliable under Gerard’s touch. He tasted like mint with a hint of smoke. Gerard got a whiff of his cologne and the fresh smell of soap. Pleasant, but what he really wanted to do was mess him up. Get him sweaty and tangle his hair. Get them both hot enough to flood the air with sweat and come. Gerard told Frank this between gasps for breath. 

“I thought about you when I jerked off this morning. I’ve been thinking about you all day. I wanna touch your skin. Put every inch of you in my mouth and taste your sweat,” Gerard said as Frank helplessly panted into his mouth. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Frank made a noise between a laugh and a gasp, hands stilling on Gerard’s shoulders. He massaged them limply and choked out, “Yeah, okay. Right now?” 

Gerard laughed and unbuttoned Frank’s flannel shirt. “You got something better in mind?” He rucked up his t-shirt and splayed his hands across Frank’s chest. If Frank had a reply it was lost when Gerard dragged the pads of his fingers across his pecs. 

“Fuck, Gerard,” Frank said as Gerard stooped to lick Frank’s stomach. Frank trembled and stuttered out, “Your brother home?” Gerard ignored him to kiss up his abs. Tongue out, he flicked Frank’s nipple ring and drew it into his mouth. Frank cursed and gritted out, “Can we at least take this upstairs?”

Gerard drew back, tugging Frank closer by his open shirt. “Mmm-hmm, okay. Too cold down here.” Gerard leaned in to steal a kiss. Their tongues touched and when Frank melted into it, Gerard stripped off his flannel shirt and tossed it on the sofa. He

pulled away, just enough to tease Frank into following him through the living room.

Frank chased his lips until they collided at the foot of the stairs and Gerard’s hand went for Frank’s crotch. “Are you hard?” He squeezed Frank’s dick through his jeans. “I can help you with that.”

“Ah, fuck.” Frank sputtered as he rubbed his flushed face into Gerard’s neck and let Gerard paw at the front of his jeans. The hard outline of Frank’s dick felt good under his hand. Gerard squeezed until Frank was rock hard and craning his neck for a biting kiss. Gerard’s dick had firmed up in anticipation, throbbing when their groins met in the middle.

Gerard was so fucking ready for this. The friction was unbelievable. His body thrummed with energy, his cock twitching as if it could burst through the fly of his jeans. They kissed until Gerard dizzied from the heat, thinking he would come right there if they didn’t stop.

Cheeks flushes, they separated to catch their breath, reassess the situation. Eyes locked. Frank licked his lips and unless they were going to do it in the stairwell, Gerard had to move. 

“Upstairs. Now.” Gerard wrestled Frank around and urged him forward. He mounted the stairs, Gerard bounding after him two steps at a time.

Gerard caught Frank at the top, swiftly maneuvering him between Gerard’s body and the wall. Frank looped his arms around Gerard’s neck, clinging on for dear life as they kissed, deep and dirty. Their dicks rubbed together, both of them huffing and groaning at the dry scrape of denim on denim. Frank let out desperate pleas.

“I want to touch you. Get your hot, hard cock in my hand and stroke it until you can’t stand up.” Gerard grazed his knuckles across Frank’s stomach. “I don’t think you’re going to make it to the bedroom. I’m gonna make you come right here in the hallway.” Frank’s jeans were loose-fitting enough to worm his hand down the front without undoing them. It was a tight fit but he managed to work his fingers under the waistband of Frank’s briefs to get at his dick.

Frank’s skin was so hot. He teased the head of Frank’s cock, fingertips sliding over the smooth skin, sticky with precome. On contact, Frank’s breath caught in his throat and his hips snapped forward.

Gerard worked his hand deeper. The angle was awkward with Gerard’s arm trapped under Frank’s fly but it was enough to get a decent grip on Frank’s dick. Gerard tugged harshly and Frank jerked forward, panting hot into his collarbone, muttering Gerard’s name into his neck.

“You’re so hot for me I don’t even need to take your clothes off. I’m gonna make you come like this. Too bad—I wanted to get your cock in my mouth. Next time. You’re so fucking hot like this, Frank. I want you to come for me.”

A couple of squeeze-strokes and Frank shouted a string of curses— _god-damn-fucking-Jesus-Christ-Gerard!_ —coming into Gerard’s hand, warm and sticky. Gerard worked him through it, one hand on Frank’s cock and the other cradling the back of his head. He stroked his fingers through Frank’s damp hair, pressing delicate kisses across his face.

When Frank stopped shaking, he sloppily kissed Gerard’s neck and along his jaw, the press of his lips leaving a wet trail behind. Their mouths met and Frank slowed, kissing him with lethargy and tenderness.

Gerard removed his hand from Frank’s pants, fingers slick with Frank’s come. He gave Frank an unwavering look as he licked his knuckles clean. It was bitter and salty, as expected. Frank squawked out a noise—a groan that turned into a resigned laugh.

“Oh, shit,” Frank mumbled. “I usually last longer than that.”

Gerard shrugged, pulling his fingers from his mouth. “My moves are usually smoother than that.”

Frank dodged Gerard’s sticky hand hovering between them to kiss him square on the lips. “Totally smooth. Gimme five and I bet I can go again.” 

Gerard smiled and wiped the rest of Frank’s come off on his jeans. The smile melted away when Frank cupped him through his jeans. His neglected dick, hard and straining against his fly, stirred at the contact. Gerard groaned and fought to keep control—he wanted to feel Frank’s skin against his. Unlike Frank, if he blew his load now, it would be hours before he could get it up again and he’d waited too long for this.

It pained him to do so, but he removed Frank’s hand from his crotch. “Wait. Bedroom.” When Frank didn’t move fast enough, Gerard pulled him down the hall. Frank kicked the door shut behind him with force and stumbled. Gerard caught him and laughed—stopping with a choked breath when Frank palmed his dick through his jeans.

“Fuck, Frank.” He wiggled out of his grasp, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him towards the bed. Gerard moved backwards until his calves hit the mattress. Frank got one arm around him to keep him from sinking to the bed and fumbled to undo the button on Gerard’s jeans. His frantic fingers sent shocks through Gerard’s dick and he wavered, legs turning to jelly. They stumbled as Frank unzipped Gerard’s pants and awkwardly shoved them down to his thighs with one hand.

Frank gave Gerard’s dick a fleeting touch before dropping to the floor. The contact sent a current through his entire body and Gerard groaned. “Fuck, Frank. Hurry up.”

Gerard sank to the mattress, kicking his legs to help Frank get his jeans off as he yanked his t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. The cool air on his feverish skin was a relief. He shimmied back and Frank moved with him, hands everywhere, skirting up his body. When he tried to slip out of his underwear, Frank stopped him.

“Lemme do it.” He shoved Gerard’s hands aside but didn’t remove his briefs. Instead, he crouched between Gerard’s legs. His mouth grazed the inside of Gerard’s thigh and suddenly he was on fire. Frank stopped to suck marks into the pale skin there, lips creeping up slowly. He trailed his fingers over the sensitive spots and Gerard almost couldn’t take it.

“Frank, c’mon,” he complained as he tugged at his briefs. “Take them off or I will.”

With a smile, Frank moved Gerard’s hands away from his crotch. He rubbed a thumb over the damp spot on Gerard’s briefs where his dick was trying to poke through—Gerard jerked at the touch. When Frank’s mouth met the cotton trapping his dick, it sent a jolt through his body. He groaned and clutched at the sheets, cursing as Frank ignored his desperate pleas.

“You’re so hot like this.” The husky tone of Frank’s voice made Gerard’s cock twitch and scrambled his brain.

Frank tongued at his dick again and Gerard thought he was going to die. He had waited so long for this. His skin prickled where Frank’s clothing rubbed against his body, the sensation a tease instead of relief. He’d never wanted something so much. If he didn’t get more he was going to explode. Skin-to-skin. Frank naked.

“Frank. Why are you still dressed?” Frank pulled back and shot him a piercing look. Gerard whined in protest. “C’mon—take your clothes off.”

Frank’s eyes darkened as he peeled his t-shirt off, messing up his hair as it popped off his head. Gerard reached out to touch him and he shimmied away. He wrestled the rest of his clothes off, kicking them to the floor. He was so fucking beautiful. 

Eyes downcast, bashful, he slowly clambered onto the bed. Gerard shuffled back until his head hit the pillow and Frank straddled him loosely, hands poised on his thighs. His ass was warm where it had settled over Gerard’s dick and Gerard couldn’t help but thrust into it.

Frank leaned down to kiss Gerard, his movements careful. He placed his palms on the mattress to hold himself up as he teased Gerard’s mouth open with his tongue.

But Gerard was having none of that. He tugged on Frank’s shoulders—he wanted full body contact, flesh on flesh. Frank didn’t budge. He kissed across Gerard’s face and neck but wouldn’t lay on top of him.

With a sigh, Gerard turned his head to the side. “C’mon. I’m not gonna freak out.”

“I know.” Frank sounded conflicted. He sat up and Gerard whimpered. “Okay. Let me know if I’m doing something you don’t like.”

“I’m not afraid. I want you close.” Gerard wriggled beneath him, tugging on his arms. “You’re seriously killing me here.”

Frank sighed and leaned in, slowly trailing his fingers up Gerard’s body. His calloused fingertips hit sensitive skin, scraping across Gerard’s ribcage and teasing at his nipples. It wasn’t enough. Gerard was greedy—he wanted more.

Finally, Frank eased down onto his forearms until their bodies were pressed together. It was so good. Hot and close in all the right places. Gerard sighed again and ran his hands up Frank’s back, scratching lightly and shamelessly rubbing his dick against Frank’s hip.

“Touch my dick.”

“Can I blow you?”

“Even better. Just get a move on it.”

Frank chuckled and kissed him again. He kept the pressure light as he worked his lips downwards—under Gerard’s ear, his jaw and square on the chin. Down his neck where it tickled. Brushing across his nipples, peaked and sensitive. That zinged a direct line to his cock. When he gasped for a breath, Frank smirked and did it again.

Tongue out, Frank licked across the soft skin on his belly and along his ribs. Gerard stilled his hands on Frank’s head as he fought not to pull his hair. His body quivered, holding on for dear life. Every inch of skin was alive, nerves alight with stimulation. Their bodies were tacky with sweat wherever they touched and the musky smell of sex hung in the air around them. 

Frank reached the waistband of Gerard’s briefs and tugged at the band with his teeth—Gerard shuddered and shifted beneath him. He squeezed Frank’s shoulder. “Take them off.” Frank obliged at an excruciatingly slow pace. Gerard writhed around on the bed and complained for Frank to move faster. He managed to remove them without touching Gerard’s cock. It was throbbing, curved up against his stomach and leaking. Laid bare and wanting, Gerard reached down to touch himself but Frank caught him before he made contact.

Gerard cursed in frustration as Frank laid Gerard’s hands at his sides. “Oh, fuck, c’mon, Frank. Touch my dick, put it in your mouth, rub it out—doesn’t matter—I need to come already.”

Frank licked across Gerard’s belly and his chin brushed Gerard’s dick. It sparked every nerve. He groaned as his hips jerked out of his control. Frank pulled away and smiled—an evil little thing—before he laid his lips to the inside of Gerard’s knee. He shifted Gerard’s leg over his shoulder and kissed up his thigh, moving closer and closer. The scruff on his face scratched at sensitive skin and Gerard squirmed, desperate for more.

Gerard was going to fucking explode.

Frank fondled Gerard’s balls and finally, with no more teasing, sucked the head of his cock into his mouth. Gerard saw fucking stars. He swore and begged until Frank had worked his entire mouth around Gerard’s dick. Gerard was floating in bliss. Frank’s movements were a little sloppy and hesitant but his mouth was tight and hot. It was unlike anything. Gerard choked on Frank’s name and tried to keep still.

Frank swirled his tongue around and sucked hard as he stroked, his hand smoothly chasing his lips. He did it over and over again until Gerard was right on the edge, toes curled and body tight. Every time Frank went down Gerard shook harder and harder, his body on the cusp of exploding into a million bits. The noises he made were stuttered and incomprehensible.

The sight of Frank between his legs was thrilling and long-awaited. His hair was a disaster and his cheeks pink as he worked his mouth on Gerard’s cock. Gerard felt shaky—he wasn’t going to last much longer. He nearly lost it when he noticed Frank jerking himself with his other hand. Oh, fuck, Frank was fucking hard again.

“Frank, Frank.” Gerard cursed and squeezed Frank’s shoulders to get his attention. “C’mere, c’mere.” 

Frank slowly lifted his mouth from Gerard’s dick, tongue swiping over the head one last time as he looked up. Gerard brushed the hair from his eyes and tugged on his arm. “C’mon, up here. Kiss me.”

Frank shifted smoothly, meeting his lips in a wet kiss. Gerard tasted both himself and Frank on his tongue, heady and warm, and pretty much the best thing he’d ever had in his mouth. Their dicks met and Gerard thrust into it, quickly reaching down to take both of them in his hand. Frank grappled at Gerard’s hands, at their dicks, until their fingers were entwined and Gerard wasn’t sure whose hand he was fucking, just that it felt fucking amazing.

Their mouths slackened as they neared release. The vice tightened and Gerard chanted Frank’s name, a whisper lost between Frank’s lips as he climaxed, nerves firing in every direction and his body sagging into a pool of feverish goo. Frank was cursing and shaking so Gerard found his cock and stroked him to completion.

They were slicked with sweat with bodies hot and trembling from the aftereffects. Gerard’s brain had short-circuited. He wanted to sink into the mattress and hold onto the feeling forever. Frank’s dead weight on top of him was a comfort instead of a threat. He breathed softly, one arm holding tight across Frank’s back and the other, inching his fingertips through Frank’s hair.

When Gerard started shivering, Frank finally moved, carefully pulling back the duvet and ushering Gerard underneath. He covered them up and found Gerard’s lips in a kiss. They shuffled around to avoid the sheets where they were damp with sweat and come, and laid there for a few minutes, exchanging soft touches.

“You good?” Frank murmured into Gerard’s neck.

“Mmm-hmm. So good.” Frank was so warm and he smelled like sex—he didn’t want to move ever again. “You’re staying over, right?”

“After that? I’m staying forever. You’ll never get rid of me.”

Gerard hummed and then said, “I’m okay with that.”

Frank moved again, tightening his arms around Gerard and kissing him softly. It was nice while it lasted but too soon Frank’s stomach growled and he complained along with it. “I’m so hungry I could eat an entire butternut squash. Or a cantaloupe. Something orange, anyway.”

“You’re so weird,” Gerard said into his mouth. He kissed him again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump your bones before dinner.”

“I’m not. But I wouldn’t say no to food now.”

“I can order something and we can eat in bed. You don’t even have to get dressed.”

Frank scoffed. “We’re not eating in your bed, you barbarian.” He lightly bit at Gerard’s lip and then sat up, pushing the blankets down. He traced a hand down Gerard’s back and even though Gerard caught a chill, he didn’t complain. It felt really nice. But he still didn’t want to move.

Frank hopped off the bed and Gerard rolled onto his back to watch him as he retrieved his jeans and slid them on without underwear. His hair was a great mess and the look he gave Gerard, purposefully biting his lip ring was just too much. “Ugh, you’re too sexy.” Gerard slapped a hand over his eyes.

“C’mon.” Frank laughed and tugged at Gerard’s hand. “I need some serious fuel after that!”

“I get it now, you’re one of _those_ people,” Gerard grumbled as he crawled off the other side of the bed. “I can’t believe you have energy left.” He kicked through a pile of clothes on the floor, looking for something comfortable to wear. He spotted his pyjama pants but didn’t move to grab them because Frank was suddenly standing real close, right behind him.

“Hmm?” Frank murmured as he nosed through the hair at the back of Gerard’s neck, breathing hot between his shoulder blades. Then he pressed in, his bare chest warm against Gerard’s back and the rough denim of his jeans meeting Gerard’s very naked ass. 

“You starting something?” Gerard said gently. “Or do you want dinner?”

Frank huffed out an awkward laugh and kissed Gerard’s shoulder. “Dinner first.”

“Okay. Good choice.” Gerard turned to face him, propping his arms on Frank’s shoulders. “I need an hour or two before I can go again.”

Frank smiled and kissed him instead of commenting. The little shit had the refractory period of a goddammed teenager. Gerard was jealous but it could be used it to his advantage.

*

“How many times can you come in a day?” Gerard wiggled his bare feet where they were resting in Frank’s lap.

The look Frank gave him was priceless. To meet Gerard’s eyes, he had to turn away from the TV—Captain Spaulding was cackling manically, seconds away from painting the floor with brain matter— and Gerard was asking about orgasms.

The first thing Gerard had done downstairs was crank up the heat. He was still in a sex-daze, so after ordering food, he crashed on the couch, curling into a ball and tucking his bare feet between the cushions to warm his toes. Frank didn’t sit down, instead started poking around the living room. Gerard couldn’t tell if he was nervous or still amped up after sex.

“You wanna put a movie on?” Gerard motioned at the bookshelf of DVDs and Frank wandered over.

“Do you still have those movies from the other night?” 

“Yeah. They’re over there, on the DVD player.” Frank selected one and popped it in the machine before joining Gerard on the couch. One shared look and Frank was grinning and pulling Gerard’s feet into his lap.

When the picture went black and white and shaky text filled the screen—TERROR!—THRILLS!—HORROR!—Gerard gave Frank a flat look. He was hoping for more sex later, not talking Frank off a ledge because he thought he saw a spider in the bathroom or heard a noise in Gerard’s closet. He wanted a sexy evening, not a spooky one. “Seriously? I figured you wanted to watch ‘Life Aquatic’ again, not ‘House of 1000 Corpses’.”

“But we didn’t even watch this one.”

“So, ghosts are a no-go but you’re okay with necrophiliac cannibals?”

“Gerard, ghosts are real,” Frank said emphatically.

“And necrophiliac cannibals aren’t?”

“If you’re about to tell me a story about Jeffrey Dahmer or the Ed Kemper, remember whose mouth you had your dick in an hour ago.”

Gerard laughed and stopped yapping to watch the movie. He tried, he really did. Then the clown onscreen said, “Fuck yo mama,” and all Gerard could think about was Frank’s lips around his dick and the sound Frank made when he came. Gerard thought there was definitely something wrong with him. That’s when he asked his question, “How many times can you come in a day?”

Frank shook the dumbstruck look from his face. “I dunno. Half a dozen maybe? I’m more about quality over quantity.”

“Yeah, I know, I agree. I just… I jerked off a lot while you were away.”

Frank laughed and gave Gerard’s leg a sympathetic squeeze… and then turned back to the TV. Gerard sighed and watched Frank instead of the movie. His profile was stunning.

“Are you staring at me?”

“Yeah.” Gerard canted his head. “You’re pretty fucking gorgeous, you know.”

“Shaddup,” Frank complained, poking Gerard in the stomach. Gerard flinched and shot him a dazzling smile in return. Frank clearly didn’t know how to take a compliment. He chewed on his lip ring and gave Gerard a contemplative look. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have a preference? I mean, top, bottom—most guys do, right? I kind of assumed you, y’know… but now I’m not sure.”

“Not sure about what?”

“Well, you’re kinda bossy in bed,” Frank said carefully.

“Um, sorry?” Gerard frowned. “I’m not always.”

“It’s not a complaint—I liked it. Obviously.” Frank cleared his throat. “It’s just… with guys I’ve only ever— _you know_.”

“Done the fucking?”

“Yeah.”

“Just because I’m mouthy and like to be in control sometimes doesn’t mean I don’t also like getting fucked. The two are not mutually exclusive.” Gerard poked Frank’s stomach with his toes until Frank looked him in the eye. “It depends on the situation and the person I’m with. I usually prefer getting fucked but I have topped before and I’m into that too.” Gerard softened his voice. “But Frank, I like _you_. We don’t have to do that if you’re not into it.”

“I have thought about it.”

“Fucking me?” Gerard lowered his voice. “I’ve thought about you fucking me every single day since we met.”

Frank took a deep breath, giving Gerard a calculated look. He suddenly moved, shoving Gerard’s legs from his lap and clambering on top of him. The remote clattered off the coffee table and fell to the floor but Frank ignored it to meet Gerard’s mouth in a kiss. Gerard smiled into, keeping it soft and fleeting. He pushed Frank back to read his expression.

“Not tonight though. I’m fucking exhausted.”

Frank teetered on all fours, trying to keep his balance as he hovered over Gerard. He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve also thought about you fucking me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Gerard put one hand on Frank’s neck and the other on his waist to hold him in place. “Tell me all about it.”

“What? Right now?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Gerard murmured, loosening his grip to squeeze Frank’s ass. On cue, the doorbell rang. “Fucking cock-blocked by the pizza guy.” Gerard made a face and reluctantly got up to answer it while Frank rolled into the sofa cushions, cackling.

They demolished the pizza and made it over an hour into the movie—to the part where one of the main characters is being vivisected by Dr. Satan himself—before they ended up horizontal and panting into each other’s mouths. Gerard sent Frank upstairs while he tidied up and shut all the lights off. He checked the front door three times before he was confident it was locked.

Frank was already undressed when Gerard made it to his bedroom and he shook his head. For all Frank’s concern about inexperience he sure knew how to press Gerard’s buttons. Gerard stripped and crawled up the mattress. He got Frank’s dick in his mouth and blew him enthusiastically as his own cock fattened up against Frank’s leg. It took Frank a lot longer to come that round and by the time he was gasping and ejaculating down Gerard’s throat, Gerard had a huge crick in his neck.

He didn’t care though—his dick was throbbing and raring to go. He spit on his hand and jerked away, frantic and desperate enough that Frank could only watch as Gerard blew his load all over Frank’s stomach. Still panting, Gerard flopped down beside Frank to catch his breath. 

Most of the mess landed on the top sheet and Frank, so Gerard wormed the sheet off the bed and used it to clean up Frank’s stomach before tossing it to the floor. He gave Frank a sated smile and tousled his hair.

“I’m gonna brush my teeth.” He wasn’t overly concerned with his breath but he definitely couldn’t skip taking his meds. When Frank trailed him to the bathroom, he tried to shake off his anxiety. Frank knew he was on medication. It wasn’t a big deal.

Frank took a piss and instead of popping his pills, Gerard pulled a twelve-pack of toothbrushes out from under the sink. Frank caught him freeing one from the package and Gerard cringed at how wide Frank’s eyes went.

“It’s so not what you think.” He offered Frank a green, discount toothbrush. “My mom went a little bananas at Costco when we moved in.”

“How come you didn’t give me one the other night after dinner?”

“I guess I didn’t think about it.” Gerard gave Frank an apologetic grin and a smack on his cheek. “You taste good no matter what.”

“Flatterer,” Frank said with a smile. 

When Frank found the toothpaste and started brushing his teeth, Gerard took a breath to steady his nerves. He tried to appear unaffected as he opened the medicine cabinet and selected a few pill bottles. He uncapped them one at a time, depositing pills on his tongue and resolutely did not look at Frank even though he could sense his glances. He filled a glass with water and swallowed them down. When he shut the cabinet Frank offered him a frothy smile and then spit into the sink. He gave Gerard a minty kiss on the lips and as he left, told him to hurry up to bed.

Gerard blew out a long breath. He could do this.

*

The next morning, Gerard woke with Frank’s arm slung over his waist and their legs tangled beneath the sheets. Warm and relaxed. He could get used to this. Maybe not the snoring or the fact that Frank slept like the dead, but waking with Frank’s naked body in his bed? Definitely. 

Gerard wiggled around until they were face-to-face. Frank breathed deeply, still sound asleep. Frank’s hair was splayed over his face and Gerard brushed it aside before gently kissing him awake.

Eyelashes fluttering, Frank deepened the kiss and tightened his hold. Gerard’s arms were trapped between and something flashed through him—a sliver of panic—but he breathed through it. Closed his eyes to enjoy Frank’s tongue exploring his mouth. 

Frank must have sensed Gerard tensing—he loosened his embrace to trail his fingers up and down Gerard’s back. He eased back, sucking Gerard’s lower lip into his mouth and moving his hand to Gerard’s waist. 

“I want to stay in bed all day.” Gerard pushed Frank’s hair from his eyes, tucking it back to stroke his ear.

“Shit.” Frank frowned. “I have to work today. And band practice after.”

His pout was irresistible. Gerard quirked a smile and tugged lightly on his lip ring before planting a kiss on his mouth. “Can you stay for breakfast?”

“Depends. Are you cooking?” Gerard wrinkled his nose and tweaked Frank’s nipple. “Ow,” Frank squawked but started laughing. “Okay, okay. I can make you breakfast.” Gerard made an annoyed noise and made to pull away from Frank who was still snickering. Frank reeled him back in and Gerard primly said, “I’m making pancakes but if you don’t start being nice to me you’re going home with an empty stomach.”

“Stop being cute,” Frank said with a grin. “I can be nice.”

With a blossoming smile, Frank kissed Gerard sweetly and thoroughly. He eased Gerard onto his back, propping himself up so he could stare down at Gerard’s face. With an unwavering stare, Frank teased at Gerard’s cock until it was fully erect. Then he jerked him off with a firm, slow hand while watching Gerard’s face. Gerard’s breath was loud, quick intakes of air that deepened as Gerard got closer. 

When Gerard was about to come, Frank’s intense gaze got to him and he shut his eyes. A groan escaped as he shuddered and shot into Frank’s hand and all over his stomach. Frank quickly straddled him, stroking himself three times before he cursed and ejaculated all over Gerard’s stomach and spent cock.

He groaned and flopped down on top of Gerard, mindless of the hot, sticky mess between them. He burrowed his face between Gerard’s neck and the pillow with an incoherent noise. Gerard said, “Eww,” but put his arms around him anyway. Their bodies were flushed hot but rapidly cooling in the comedown. When Frank started feeling like a dead weight, Gerard coaxed him into getting up.

They showered together and emerged smelling like Gerard’s strawberry shampoo. Frank grossed out Gerard when he peed in the shower—to conserve water!—and Frank side-eyed Gerard’s array of body washes, shampoos and conditioners lining the bathtub. Frank said he only needed one bottle—a body wash-shampoo combo as if that was a thing?—to clean himself from head to toe.

While Gerard had imagined staying in bed all day, Frank had his part-time job to get to. Gerard wanted to make him breakfast before he left and he wasn’t about to heat a frying pan in the nude. Getting dressed was a disappointment. The end of something. Even though he was allowed to look, Gerard refrained from ogling Frank as he slid on his jeans and one of Gerard’s old t-shirts.

Gerard set to making coffee and pancakes. Because Frank was a nosy bugger, he poked around the kitchen, opening drawers and reading the mail they had tacked up on a cork-board. He grinned at the sight of his postcards stuck to the fridge. When he got bored, he crowded Gerard at the counter, hooking his chin over his shoulder to embrace him from behind. Gerard’s stomach fluttered as he mashed a banana.

“I’m making them without eggs or milk.” Gerard shook a carton of soy milk. “I hope this kind’s okay?”

Frank squeezed Gerard. “Yes! Are you kidding me?” He smacked a kiss to Gerard’s neck. “You’re the best!”

The moment they settled at the table with breakfast, the front door opened. Gerard watched the door with an eagle eye and when Mikey stomped up to his room, feet thumping up the stairs, Gerard deflated. 

Gerard finally told Frank about the fight he’d had with Mikey and how Brendon suddenly hated his guts.

“Sounds like Mikey’s being a dick right now, but I’m sure he’ll come around. Tim had this crazy girlfriend once who almost broke up the band with all her drama. We had to threaten to find a new drummer before Tim came to his senses.”

Gerard made a face and decided he’d better start working on Frank’s bandmates if he wanted to keep Frank around.

“I just don’t get what me and Vickie not getting along has to do with me being friends with Brendon. It makes no sense.”

“Do you think Brendon might be into you, as like, more than friends?”

“No. No way.” Gerard shook his head. “He knows all about you and he seemed happy to meet you last night.”

“But that’s what I mean—the timing is weird, right? We meet and the next day he starts acting like a douche. I can’t believe he told you he wasn’t your friend.”

“I know, it’s weird. But it was never like that with him. He’s _seventeen_.”

“Yeah. He’s a _teenager_ , chock full of vacillating hormones and volatile decisions. Maybe he thought something would happen between you. That eventually you’d show interest. And then he met me and realized that it’s never going to happen.” Frank flashed him a cocky grin and hooked an ankle around Gerard’s.

“Definitely never going to happen.” Gerard ran a hand up Frank’s thigh. For a moment they got caught in one another’s gaze. Frank looked away first and Gerard squeezed his leg before removing his hand.

Frank nudged Gerard’s foot and waved his fork around. “These are amazing—where d’you find a recipe for vegan pancakes? I know how much you hate the Internet.”

Gerard tried to smile and set his attention back to Frank. “I went to that health food store out in Montclair for the soy milk and this guy asked if my hair dye was animal friendly. We started talking so I asked him what to make a vegan for breakfast.”

“He was flirting with you.”

Gerard grinned. “I told him I wanted to surprise my boyfriend.”

“You totally did.” Frank leaned across the table to kiss his cheek and Gerard was flooded with warmth. He could do this.


	14. They Suffocate At Night

Christmas Eve was closing in and Gerard was slowly sinking into a pit of despair. The holidays were dreary without his grandmother. Mikey hadn’t spoken to him in a week and it stung to the core. He flitted in and out of the house, stone-faced and silent. Often tailed by Vickie who’d pass Gerard smug looks and haughty remarks. He hadn’t followed through on his threat to move out but he was giving Gerard the silent treatment and with Vickie on the offensive, Gerard didn’t know how to fix things between them.

Without Frank or Mikey or even Brendon to keep him occupied, Gerard found it impossible to keep up appearances. Loneliness made it easy to slip back into old habits. He avoided his parents because he didn’t want to talk about it and stayed in bed for a few days doing fuck all. He knew it wasn’t healthy. He also didn’t give two fucks. Misery was bad company but at least it was familiar.

He missed Frank. And sex. Between Frank’s shifts at work, band practice, and family commitments, Gerard wouldn’t see him until after Christmas. They’d barely started dating and already Gerard felt the pull to have Frank around all the time. It was exacerbated by the fact that they’d gone so long without seeing each other initially. Now that Frank was back, Gerard wanted to take advantage and spend every waking minute with him. And he couldn’t help but feel a tang of bitterness that Frank had to hide their relationship from his family.

He pulled the duvet over his head. He was pathetic. He’d seen Frank a few nights ago and they’d had a fantastic time. Initially, Gerard had been torn. He had planned to take Frank to his favourite Indian restaurant but he also wanted Frank to fuck him senseless. They hadn’t had intercourse yet and 

the thought had preoccupied Gerard’s mind all week.

So, he persuaded Frank to cut out of band practice early one afternoon, brought him home and asked Frank to fuck him. Frank wanted it as bad as Gerard. There was something soft and sentimental about the way Frank touched him but he also knew when to push and when to pull away. He had Gerard panting and desperate in a way he’d never been before. It was glorious.

Afterwards, Gerard had taken him out for dinner where they shared dishes of Aloo Mutter and Channa Masala and ate their weight in Naan. And no one gave a fuck that they were holding hands across the table or had the giggles like a couple of school kids.

In the morning, they had sex again—in the shower—and then went out for breakfast because Frank had to finish his Christmas shopping. They ended up at the outlet mall trying not to lose each other in the crowd of last-minute shoppers and screaming children.

Gerard hated stores and shopping and being around strangers. They were rude and too loud and bumped into him like he was purposefully in their way. But being out with Frank took the sting out of it. Frank skirted the crowds like a pro. It was a game of chase trying to keep up with him, made especially difficult because every time they exited a store, Frank would spend a minute pacing back and forth, trying to remember which direction they’d been going.

“You know, you don’t have to get me anything for Christmas.” Gerard clung to Frank’s arm as they crossed into a massive department store. Even the mannequins in ugly red and green fuzzy sweaters gave him funny looks. Gerard sneered at their festive, coordinated outfits and dead, painted eyes as they passed them by.

Frank stopped abruptly and scoffed. He looked up at Gerard and batted his eyelashes. Goddammit, he was attractive. “Of course, I got you something.”

“Oh.” Gerard ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. “Well, just so you know—I’m pretty bad at gift-giving.” A sly grin crossed Frank’s face and as he opened his mouth to speak, Gerard beat him to it. “Not sex—I know I’m gifted in the sack. I meant something tangible.” He glanced around before he leaned in to whisper, “I’ll suck your dick any time you want, baby.”

Gerard laughed freely when Frank went red in the face. He shushed Gerard and tugged on his sleeve, marching him towards the kitchen department and Gerard started to drag his feet like an unruly child. “Don’t get your mom kitchen crap for Christmas, trust me.”

“You need a colander.” He stopped and shook his head. “I can’t believe your mom’s Italian and you don’t have a colander.” 

“I don’t even know what that is.”

They strolled through the aisles, Frank picking up random gadgets and demonstrating them for Gerard. He couldn’t imagine needing any of it but Frank was having a gay old time.

“Oh my god, you’re secretly into this domestic stuff, aren’t you?”

“It’s not a secret,” Frank replied. He picked up a large metal strainer and waggled it in front of Gerard for emphasis. “Colander.”

“I totally know what that it—it’s a strainer. Is that my Christmas present?” If it was, his gift to Frank might not be so bad.

“No,” Frank said, totally offended. “This is for when I make dinner at your house—which also isn’t your present.”

Gerard was definitely going to get him a novelty apron and make him wear it in his kitchen. Nothing but the apron. That would be a sight.

There were people in the aisle next to them, so instead of kissing him, Gerard settled for slipping his hand into Frank’s and rubbing his thumb across his tattooed knuckles. Frank held tight and motioned that they should carry on through the store. 

“What was the terrible gift you got your mom?” Frank asked as they wandered closer to the fancy dishes and breakable crap.

“Um… a broom.” Frank cackled in response and Gerard added, “It was a fancy broom with a nice dustpan… She cried and they weren’t happy tears. But I was seven and I didn’t know any better.”

“What did you get her this year?”

“She collects dolls—like creepy antique dolls. I found two at a flea market that look like the twins from ‘The Shining’. I know, it’s weird.” Frank shrugged like it wasn’t. “She has them in a huge display cabinet in the living room. They freaked the fuck out of me and Mikey when we were kids. We were convinced that the dolls moved around when we weren’t looking. Sometimes we thought we heard them talking. She’s got one that looks like me in drag. It’s uncanny as fuck.”

“Mmm, that’s what I want for Christmas.” Frank nudged Gerard.

“A creepy doll?” Gerard teased. Frank stopped walking to pinch Gerard’s ass and Gerard had to bite his tongue to keep from squealing. 

“Santa is not the one I want to see in a dress,” Frank said pointedly, wrinkling his nose. 

“Well, if you’re a good boy, maybe Santa will give you what you wish for.” Gerard gave him a wink.

They walked cautiously down an aisle lined with china dishes. Most of the patterns were ugly as fuck. Washed out pastels, tacky flowers and gold trim. A wayward elbow or one good sneeze would cost Gerard a year’s salary in dinnerware.

“The weirdest thing my mom collects is crucifixes. Slap Jesus on a cross and my mom will hang it on the wall.” Frank gave Gerard a grim look.

Gerard slipped his fingers into Frank’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s see if we can find a Jesus that looks like you.”

They asked the stuffy man at the cash to wrap the gift for Frank’s mom. He was curt with them, casting judgemental looks at their entwined hands. Instead of getting angry, Gerard pointed out that according to the bible, Jesus had been in a homosexual relationship with John the Apostle. He lectured the man with a straight face and as they walked away, Frank broke out in a fit of giggles.

Ugh. Frank was so much fun to be around. Life was dull in his absence. It was ridiculous but Gerard missed him already. He hadn’t laughed for days and Frank made him feel like he wasn’t alone.

When the phone rang, Gerard snapped it up hoping Frank had found some time to spare. But it was Gretchen, one of his art school friends. She badgered him until he agreed to meet her and Sophie for coffee. Everything inside him told him to stay in bed but he hadn’t seen them for ages and he had to stop moping around eventually.

He showered and put on clean clothes, and then rode the train into the city. On the way, he gave himself a pep talk. Stop being moody. Stop brooding like a teenager. Stop being a depressive fuck.

The café windows were streaked with moisture from the warmth inside. Inside it smelled like fresh bread and strong coffee— Gerard paused to breathe it all in. When he pushed off his hood, he spotted his friends right away. The two girls squealed and jumped up. “You guys!” He opened his arms wide and got hugged from both sides.

Gerard got a coffee before sitting down with them. Right away Sophie asked how he’d been coping with his grandmother’s death. Both girls lived in the city. They hadn’t had much time to talk at his grandmother’s wake, so they caught up on all their major life events. Gerard brought up Halloween and the girls exchanged guilty looks.

“I got called into work—you know how that place is,” Gretchen complained. She worked part-time at a gallery notorious for attracting high-maintenance artists. “There was a show that night, and the day of, someone figured out that the artist—this Rafe guy—had given them prints of his work instead of the originals. I don’t know how the fuck a bunch of prints got framed and hung without anyone noticing, but there you go! I work with idiots! We spent the entire day reframing and hanging shit. And Rafe was a total douche about it. He was convinced someone was going to steal his originals. As if! His paintings all looked like Dali knockoffs with women’s body parts everywhere. I’m pretty sure he’s a serial killer.”

“Did he sell anything?”

Gretchen laughed loudly. “You bet. It was Halloween and New York’s full of sick fucks! And, oh yeah, Anthony’s puppy was sick and you know nothing comes before that dog.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, he only adopted it fill the void Mallory left when she dumped him.”

“It’s funny, the resemblance to her—blue eyes, high maintenance, and whines whenever she’s not yap-yap-yapping away.” Gretchen mimed the yapping with her hand. “He basically traded one bitch for another.”

“Gretchen,” Gerard scolded. “She wasn’t that bad.” 

Sophie started laughing. “Shit, she even got trashed and yakked all over his sofa like the dog did on Halloween! Although I bet the dog’s puke didn’t smell like vodka or”—Gerard stopped her with a hand before she went any further. 

“Oh, seriously? You still have a thing about, um…” Gretchen fake-gagged and Gerard put a hand over his face and groaned. “Don’t, Jesus…”

“Nice,” Sophie scolded Gretchen and started petting Gerard’s head. “Leave him alone.”

Gerard turned his eyes on her. “Okay, so what’s your excuse?” Her hand dropped from his head. She cast her eyes around as though the answer was hidden somewhere in the cafe. Finally, she replied, “I had cramps?”

Gretchen honked out a laugh. “You’re such a liar.”

Sophie made an undignified noise and scowled at Gretchen. They had a staring contest until Sophie broke. “Fine. I watched America’s Next Top Model and convinced myself I’d look like a blimp in my bunny costume so I didn’t want to go out. I watched ‘Fear’ and ‘The Crush’ and ate an entire bag of mini Reese's Peanut Butter Cups instead.”

“Hey, we’ve all been there.” Gerard patted her hand in sympathy.

“Yeah, it sucked.” Sophie’s shoulders slumped. “Especially when Peter was shacked up with a model.”

“He did?” Gerard’s eyes went big.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“I haven’t talked to him since the funeral.”

“Yeah, he went AWOL for a while. We didn’t see him for weeks. The guy was Australian. Boy next door and all that shit. More your type than Peter’s.”

“What d’you mean— _my type_?”

Gretchen cackled. “Picture Paul Walker or  Matthew McConaughey . The last guy you can imagine Peter with—tall, strapping, blond, blue-eyed—definitely your type.”

“That’s not my—I do not have a type,” Gerard said grumpily.

The girls shared a look and started listing off names. “Gregory, Nicholas, Chase”—“that dumb guy from your photography class, the guy with the Ken doll hair, pretty much every guy you picked up at the club”—“that really hot fireman?”—“ooh, yeah, he was smokin’”

“What fireman?”

“You remember—that night at Limelight?” Sophie said. “It was raining so he carried you to the subway over his shoulder so your shoes wouldn’t get wet.”

“He didn’t carry me.” Gerard made a face. “And I think he was a stripper, not a fireman. Besides, that was so long ago. Clearly you remember them better than I do. I’d like to think I’ve changed since then.”

“Okay, how about this summer? That lifeguard—Kevin, with the long legs and the gorgeous summer tan. And those twins from Florida?”

The twins. That was a once in a lifetime experience he’d never forget. A blush crept up the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I get it. You can stop now.” He drank from his coffee, the warmth filling his insides. “You were telling me about Peter.”

“Yeah, he’s been weird since then. Distant. I think he actually liked the guy. He brought him out one night. I can email you some pictures if you want.”

“I’m still bad with email,” Gerard admitted. “I have a work address for school but you’re not sending them there.”

“I’ll send them to Mikey.”

“You email with Mikey?”

“He sent us a bunch of pictures from Halloween.”

“Along with a snarky comment about us ditching you,” Sophie added.

“You looked fabulous though,” Gretchen said to Gerard in an accusatory tone. “Your costume turned out amazing.”

“I know,” Gerard replied cooly. “I even met a guy that night.” 

“Good for you!” Gretchen asked. “You finally get laid?”

“It wasn’t a hook-up. It’s not like that—we went out on a date.”

“A date?” Gretchen said incredulously. “Does that mean you haven’t fucked yet?”

“Wait, you didn’t sleep with him?” Sophie looked confused.

Gretchen leaned on the table, excited. “Look at his face—he totally hasn’t.”

“I totally have.” Gerard scowled at her. “What wrong with my face?”

“Was the sex bad? Or mediocre?” Sophie said knowingly. “Or is he like, _really_ kinky?”

“Soph, shut up.” Gretchen thought about it. “How kinky is he?”

“Maybe he’s a virgin.”—“Oh, let him talk!”—“He looks all, I dunno, awkward about it.”

“I’m not awkward,” Gerard grumbled.

“See, he’s blushing.”

“I’m not blushing!” Gerard squawked. “Oh my god, stop ganging up on me. It’s more than sex. He was away for a while and when he came back we started seeing each other.”

“So, you like him,” Gretchen said. “Like really, like him, like him.”

“Could you ease off on the likes. I think there’s some girl in the valley looking for them.” 

“Oh, he does!” Sophie agreed and batted her eyelashes. “For serious though—what’s he like in bed?”

“You’re both terrible—you know that, right?” Gerard crossed his arms. They stared at him expectantly until he sighed and gave in. “Yes, we fucked and yes it was amazing. He’s not a virgin and he’s not too kinky, _Jesus_.”

“And you like him. You’re serious about this guy.”

“I’m trying. I like him a lot.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s in a band.”

“Eww, no—not one of those scuzzy, Jersey basement bands? With all the screaming and dudes fellating their guitars?”

“No,” Gerard said primly. “They’re pretty good, actually.”

“What’s the name of the band?”

“Uh, nope. You’re not stalking him, online or otherwise.”

“Fine.” Gretchen sighed dramatically. “What does he look like?”

“Not my type, apparently,” Gerard said wryly. “More like Gael García Bernal than Simon Baker.”

“He’s Mexican?” Sophie said.

“No, he’s Italian, duh. But he’s short with dark hair and devastatingly handsome.” 

“Go on.”

“Um, he looks like a little punk—tattoos, lip ring, ripped jeans—but he’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met. He’s funny and a vegan—he can cook—and he plays guitar like a God.” Gerard sighed and looked down at his hands. “He’s seen me meltdown more than once and he still wants to be with me. Why, is anyone’s guess.”

“Gee, you’re a catch.” Gretchen reached out to squeeze his hand from across the table. “He’s obviously a smart guy.”

“You sound like you’re in love,” Sophie said.

“I’m not in love. I’ve only known him a few months.”

“Pfft!” Sophie flapped her hand at him. “That means nothing. How does he make you feel?”

“Good?” Gerard thought about it. “God, I don’t know.”

“Soph, lay off,” Gretchen scolded. “Enjoy the honeymoon period, be happy and don’t worry about all that love shit. When it happens, you’ll know.”

“If it’s never happened before, how will I know?”

“You’ll just know,” Gretchen said as Sophie broke out in a wide grin. Gerard cut her off with, “If you quote Whitney Houston at me I’m leaving.”

Sophie huffed and pouted into her coffee mug. “How did you know I was going to?”

“C’mon, freshman year? Who do you think made her debut album and ‘The Bodyguard’ soundtrack disappear? I snapped them in half and started a trash fire in the men’s room.”

“That was you?” She made a noise in the back of her throat. “I thought my roommate stole them! I gave her such a hard time about it.”

“I’m sorry. At the time I thought it was hilarious and warranted. The entire floor was sick of hearing ‘Greatest Love of All’ and ‘Saving All My Love for You’ twenty times a day.” 

“Point is,” Gretchen said. “You’ll feel it and you’ll know.”

“When do we get to meet him?” Sophie asked.

Gerard snorted out a laugh. “Never. Not a fucking chance.”

“Yeah, Peter will want to meet him. Give him the whole routine.”

“No way.” Gerard shook his head. “Frank does not need to hear how fucked up I was at school. He knows enough without hearing stories about my drunken hook-ups and falling asleep on the sidewalk in front of the Salvation Army.”

“Gee, we won’t. We want you to be happy,” Sophie said. “I’ll talk to Peter.”

Gretchen tapped her fingers on the table, lit up with excitement. “We’re overdue for a night out at Flash. Does Frank like to dance?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Oh, c’mon, Gerard! We haven’t been out dancing in ages.” Sophie clutched at his hands. “Tell Frank he doesn’t even have to dance. We just want to meet him.”

Gerard sighed and drained the rest of his coffee. “I’ll ask him, okay?”

“Yes!” Sophie fist-pumped the air. “Tell Mikey to come too—I haven’t seen him for ages.”

“Um, yeah. I don’t know about that.” Gerard looked down at the table, unable to hide the burn. “We’re not talking right now.”

“What do you mean, not talking?” Sophie exclaimed. “Is that even possible? I thought he moved in with you?”

“Ouch!” Sophie bent to massage her leg. Gretchen gave him a long look. “Is everything okay?”

“Vickie’s back,” Gerard said morosely.

“I thought she was like, _gone_ gone. Working on a cruise ship or something?”

“Not anymore. She’s back and she and Mikey are all joined at the hip like nothing ever happened.”

“That evil cunt!” Gretchen said as Sophie scolded her, “Gretchen! At least use the B-word.” She gave Gerard a sympathetic look and asked, “How did that happen?”

“The usual. Mikey told me absolutely nothing and suddenly they’re back together. He even gave her a key to the house without telling me and we fought about it. Mikey threatened to move out.” Gerard told them about Brendon hanging around and how Mikey had it out for him immediately. “I think Mikey’s jealous.”

“Of course, Mikey’s jealous,” Sophie said.

“But Brendon’s just a kid. I’m trying to help him.”

“You still trying to save the world?” Gretchen asked.

“He’s upgraded from stray cats to wayward college students,” Sophie agreed.

“So, you’ve adopted this kid,” Gretchen said. “And you have a new man in your life. Mikey probably feels like you don’t need him anymore. Hence how easy it was for Vickie to weasel her way back into his life.”

“That’s stupid. Mikey’s my brother. I’ll always need him.”

Sophie said, “You should tell him that.”

Gerard sighed. He didn’t disagree.

*

Seeing Sophie and Gretchen lifted his spirits. The next day he drove downtown Belleville to spend the afternoon at his mom’s salon. He owed her a visit and his hair was in desperate need of a cut and colour touch-up. It wasn’t until she started wheedling him about Mikey that he realized it had been a bad idea. Call it mother’s intuition, she said. He hadn’t said a word about them fighting and he doubted Mikey had either.

“It’s Christmas—can’t you forgive each other?” She slathered paste on a section of brown hair, tugging at his roots and giving him sad eyes in the mirror.

“It’s not that simple. He treats me like I’m the younger brother. Like I’m stupid and helpless.”

“I doubt that, honey. Michael loves you. He’s looking out for you.”

Gerard huffed. He couldn’t tell his mom about Vickie—Mikey would never forgive him. And without bringing her up, he couldn’t explain why Mikey was threatening to move out.

When she bleached out his roots, the strong chemicals hit him so hard his eyes watered. He wrinkled his nose and tried not to fidget. Finished with the application, she taped plastic around his head and left him to sit while she tended to another customer.

To amuse himself, he eavesdropped on the ladies sitting under the hair dryers. They were elderly and the noise from the fans had them practically shouting to hear one another. Their conversation lacked drama, however, as they went back and forth bragging about the accomplishments of their grandchildren. 

One of them called out to his mom and asked if she had any grandchildren. Then the old bat pointedly looked at Gerard. Gerard could see her in the mirror and he rolled his eyes.

His mom came between them, touching Gerard’s shoulders. “Not yet, but my boys are still young.” When she squeezed, the warmth of her fingers seeped through his t-shirt.

“I’m not that young,” Gerard said. “And I’m gay,” he called out. “I have a boyfriend.”

He thought he heard a gasp but that might have been wishful thinking. God forbid any of them have grandchildren interested in the opposite sex.

His mom swatted the back of his head. “You could adopt, you know.”

Gerard snorted. “I should adopt a baby from Vietnam or Mongolia just to spite Uncle Ernie. He’d fucking love that.” 

That got a chuckle out of his mom. Then she scolded him for swearing as she finished his hair. He walked out with a neat trim and his roots a luscious orange, no closer to figuring out what to do about Mikey.

*

Christmas with the Jersey clan was a dizzying affair. Gerard helped his mom and Aunt Lorraine bake a mountain of cookies—shortbread, gingerbread, chocolate amaretti, pizzelles and pignolis and his mom’s specialty, lemon polenta cookies. Batter-bowl licking and fresh-from-the-oven sampling was a criminal way of life; Gerard cringed at the thought of squeezing into his good jeans when the holidays were over.

Being a total prude, his aunt spent the afternoon tsking and tutting over Gerard’s colourful language. He took pride in watching her flinch every time he took the Lord’s name in vain or talked about anything remotely sexual; she shared Frank’s mom’s firm belief in no sex before marriage. The discomfort on her face mirrored the reactions Frank had to Gerard describing in detail all the things he wanted to do to his body. Fortunately, bashful looked good on Frank.

At some point, Tyler strayed in with big curious eyes and asked to help. Aunt Lorraine tried to shoo him off to go watch football with his uncles, so Gerard wrapped him in a red gingham apron and spent the next hour helping him decorate gingerbread people and lecturing his aunt on how inappropriate it was to foist heteronormative stereotypes on a six-year-old. She shook her head but kept her mouth shut, so Gerard counted it as a win.

On Christmas Eve, Gerard packed an overnight bag and found Mikey waiting in the living room with his own bag at the door. Mikey shut off the TV and shucked his shoes on without a glance and Gerard decided that he’d had it with the silent treatment. 

As Gerard pulled out of the driveway, he tried to get Mikey’s attention but he was no match for his cell phone. “Mikey… Mikey, Mikey, Mikey.” It took snapping his fingers to get a response.

“What?” Mikey clicked away at his phone, probably texting. How the hell could he read the letters on the buttons to write that quickly? Gerard couldn’t type that fast on a keyboard, let alone construct legible sentences. 

“Are you still mad at me?”

“No.”

“Mikey.” Gerard braked at a stop sign and swatted Mikey’s arm. “Mikey, put the phone down.”

Mikey huffed. “I’m not mad at you, Jesus.” He punched a few more buttons and made a show of putting his phone in his pocket and holding his hands up in surrender. “There. Happy?”

“I’m right beside you and you’d rather send stupid messages back and forth with your friends than talk to me.”

“I live with you.”

“And I haven’t seen you in over a week.” Gerard tightened his grip on the steering wheel and glanced over at Mikey. 

“I’ve been busy.”

“So, we’re cool? You don’t hate me anymore?”

Mikey sighed lightly and softened his gaze. “You know I don’t hate you. Stop being dramatic.”

Then Mikey’s phone rang obnoxiously loud and he shot Gerard a guilty look. Gerard flapped his hand at Mikey to answer it.

It was obviously Vickie. No one else caused Mikey to sound so defensive and apologetic. He told her he loved her before he hung up. It made Gerard uncomfortable to hear so he pushed it down. Mikey held the phone in his lap and began fiddling with it.

Gerard glanced at Mikey. “Do mom and dad know?”

“Know what?”

Gerard twirled a finger in the direction of his phone. “Vickie?”

Resigned, Mikey slumped lower in his seat. “No.” He gave Gerard a sharp look. “Are you gonna tell them?”

“I won’t say anything. I promise.” Gerard waved a hand at Mikey. “But they’re gonna find out sooner or later, especially if you move out. That would be impossible to keep from them.” Gerard caught Mikey’s eyes with concern. “Are you moving in with her?”

Mikey sighed and gave Gerard another look but didn’t answer him.

*

For dinner on his mom made a huge eggplant parmesan. The four of them sat around the dining room table, toasting with glasses of tonic water and cranberry juice. They managed a steady stream of chit chat as Gerard and his mom were wont to do. While the food was delicious, the mood was subdued.

Everyone sorely missed his grandmother. Every year since his grandfather had died, she had spent Christmas Eve with them, telling them the same old stories about his mom and Uncle Ernie as kids. Gerard’s favourite was the one about how when Uncle Ernie was six, he had unwrapped Gerard’s mom’s fuzzy, pink footie pyjamas by mistake and had insisted on wearing them all Christmas Day. There was even photographic evidence somewhere.

Afterwards, they retired to the living room to drink eggnog his dad had made from scratch—sans the rum—and eat the cookies Gerard had baked with his mom. Gerard could feel his waistline expanding with every bite. He felt guilty about the eggs and vowed to give up dairy as his resolution for New Years. Those poor chickens. The decision had absolutely nothing to do with Frank.

Exchanging gifts lightened the mood. Gerard’s parents bought him a cell phone and Mikey taunted him about finally entering the twenty-first century. The joke was on Mikey. He didn’t know it yet, but he’d have to teach Gerard how to use it and listen to him whine about it.

When Gerard crawled into bed he was numb through and through. He loved his family but sometimes it wasn’t enough. He was lonely. The house was still as Gerard lay there in the dark, unable to sleep. It wasn’t his bedroom anymore but he couldn’t think of it as anything but. He wondered what Frank was doing right now.

The stairs creaked and Gerard squinted through the dark. Mikey lay down on the bed beside him. They weren’t kids anymore but it was a tradition for Mikey to sneak into Gerard’s room to wait out Christmas Eve together. With everything that had been going on between them, Gerard hadn’t been sure Mikey would come.

“Your hair looks dope,” Mikey said. “Like a fireball.”

“I miss Grams.”

“Me too.” Mikey squinted at him and snickered. “I knew you’d put those on the first chance you got.”

Their mom had bought them both plaid flannel pyjamas—Mikey’s a subtle hunter green and Gerard’s red to match his hair. Unlike Gerard, Mikey was not wearing his.

“It’s Christmas! Besides, they’re warm and cozy. I’m gonna wear them all winter, so get used to it.”

“I’m sure Frank will love them,” Mikey said dryly. “Where’d he go for the holidays? I thought he’d be here.”

“Nah. He had to go to his dad’s for a few days and then back with his mom for Christmas. I think she’s making go to mass tomorrow, too.”

“That blows.”

“Yeah.” Gerard hesitated and with a softer voice, said, “I miss you, Mikey. I feel like now that we live together I never see you. You don’t tell me anything and when we do talk, all we do is fight.”

“I’m sorry.” Mikey put his arm over Gerard’s chest and pushed his forehead into his shoulder. “I was a jerk about Brendon, okay? I’ll try to be nicer to him.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Gerard replied. “He doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore. Thinks I’m too bossy. I thought I was helping but I guess I was just a shitty friend.”

“You’re not. You wear your heart on your sleeve and that’s something people take advantage of. You’ve gotta have boundaries. Brendon may be harmless but he’s not helpless either.” Mikey sighed. “I’ll apologize to Brendon if you play nice with Vickie.”

“I am nice to her! She’s the one who keeps starting shit.” When Mikey didn’t reply, Gerard tensed up. “I know I’m a burden on you but I don’t want you to move out.”

“You’re not a burden.” Mikey huffed and hugged Gerard like he meant it. 

“Mikey, if it’s what you want—to live with her—then you should go. I’ll support you on whatever you want, one hundred percent.”

“I’m not sure I want to but you know how she is. She’s upset because she thinks I’m not taking our relationship seriously enough. Like I’m the one with commitment issues.”

“That’s a lie. Don’t let her get in your head.”

“She says she’s changed. She told me she loves me.”

“If she loves you, then she’ll wait until you’re ready. Do you think she’s really going to stick around this time?” 

“I doubt it.” Mikey breathed hard into Gerard’s hair and finally replied, “But I can’t help myself.”

That pricked at Gerard’s heart. He felt bad for giving Mikey such a hard time when he knew exactly what he was going through. Then he felt guilty and wondered if he wasn’t doing the same thing Mikey was—keeping secrets from him.

“I never told you but… I saw Bert a few weeks ago.”

Mikey sat up abruptly and Gerard could see the hard lines of his frown through the dark. When he switched on the lamp beside the bed, the brightness hit Gerard like the flick of a lighter; he groaned and covered his eyes.

“Mikey,” Gerard complained.

“Stop hiding.” Mikey tugged his arms away from his face. “What happened with Bert?” Mikey looked calm but Gerard could hear the tension in his voice. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“It’s not—nothing happened. I ran into him and we talked for a few minutes. That’s it. He’s totally sober now—looks great. Happy, healthy. He lives in California with his boyfriend. He was here visiting his parents. I won’t run into him again.”

“Where did you see him?”

“At a meeting.” 

Mikey’s eyes got big. “When were you at a meeting?”

“I’ve been going once in a while but it’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“How can I not? If you’re slipping you have to talk to me. I promise I’ll stop acting like a dick.”

“It’s not about you. Sometimes it’s just something I need to do. It’s not a bad thing. It doesn’t mean I’m going to start drinking again. I don’t want to fuck things up for everyone else.”

“I don’t care about everyone else—I care about you.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Bert?”

“Cause I didn’t want to think about it. He kinda freaked me out. He told me he’d been in love with me back then. I had no idea. I started thinking that maybe I should’ve been in love with him too. But I wasn’t. I know I wasn’t. Maybe I’m so fucked I can’t fall in love with another person. Like maybe that part of me is broken.” Gerard rubbed at his eyes and sighed. “Seems like all he needed was to get away from me. Like I was the problem.”

“You’re so wrong, Gerard. You were not the problem. If anything, you two were like a pair of radioactive materials that shouldn’t have been mixed together. You love lots of people—you’re so full of love you don’t even realize it. And if you’re capable of loving your family and your friends, then you’re fully capable of falling in love.”

“What about Frank?” Gerard said softly.

“What _about_ Frank?”

“I like him, a lot. I don’t think I love him, but…” Gerard shook his head and was overcome with sadness. “It’s not going to last.” 

“Why would you say that? Did something happen?”

“No. It’s just… me. It’s too good to last with him. He’s gonna realize just how fucked up I am and… you said it—I’m like radioactive material. I screwed up Bert and now I’m gonna screw up Frank.” Saying the words out loud made them feel real. Instead of a weight being lifted, the words sank in his chest like a certainty, crushing his soul.

“Aw, fuck, Gee. I didn’t mean it like that. Bert and Frank are not the same, not at all.” Mikey dropped back down and hugged him hard. “You know none of that’s true. You’re sad because of the holidays and all the shit that’s been going on. Have you talked to Brian about this? I think he needs to up your meds.” Gerard squirmed in protest and let Mikey lecture him until he nodded off.

*

They drove out to Aunt Christie and Uncle Chuck’s place in the countryside to spend Christmas Day with his mom’s family. Gerard was not in the mood. Outside it was cold and bright and inside was full of people chattering and children shrieking. All Gerard wanted was a moment of peace and quiet. He hadn’t slept well and was nursing a horrible headache.

The high point of their arrival was the look on Uncle Ernie’s face when he saw Gerard’s newly touched up hair. It was priceless. The best Christmas present he could have asked for, improved when the kids crowded around him talking about what crazy colours they wanted to dye their hair. Gerard’s face felt like it was going to crack from smiling about it.

Gerard avoided the adults by hanging out in the den with all the kids. He found some washable markers and amused them by drawing all over their arms, giving them temporary tattoos. The kids’ requests got progressively louder and they ran around screaming their heads off about their new tattoos. His head still hurt but it was a good distraction.

Mikey was comfortably wedged in an old armchair, tapping away on his phone and completely oblivious to the chaos surrounding him. He’d called Gerard a ‘shit disturber’ when he’d cottoned on to what he was doing but otherwise was absorbed in his phone. After their big heart-to-heart last night, Gerard suspected Mikey was keeping an eye on him, but whatever.

Suddenly, Mikey’s obnoxious ringtone shrilled out. He answered it and when his expression shifted to annoyed, he caught Gerard’s eye. “Gee, where’s your phone?”

He shrugged and shot Mikey a dazzling smile. “Probably still in the box?”

Mikey shook his head and waved his phone in the air expectantly. “Here.” He handed it to Gerard and said, “Merry Christmas. Don’t use up all my minutes.”

When he put it to his ear he couldn’t hear a thing for all the yelling, so he retreated into the hallway. The last thing he heard was Mikey telling the kids they were all getting rainbow tattoos, no exceptions. Gerard grinned and greeted the person on the other end of the line, pretty certain it was Frank.

“Is Mikey pissed I called you on his phone?”

“Nah. But my parents bought me one for Christmas. I’ll give you my number when I figure out how to use it.”

Frank barked out restrained laughter. “I can’t talk long—I’m hiding in my aunt’s bathroom. Eventually, they’ll come looking for me.”

Gerard sat on the carpet and stretched his legs out until his feet hit the opposite wall. “I hear you. I’ve been entertaining the rug-rats all afternoon. There’s nowhere to hide.”

“At least you didn’t have to sit through mass this morning.”

“Praise Jesus,” Gerard said, getting a snicker out of Frank. At that moment, his Aunt Lorraine walked by and gave him a pointed look.

They talked until there was a knocking on Frank’s end and he cursed. “They found me. Shit—hang on.”

Gerard listened as a door creaked open and Frank apologized, saying he’d be out in a few minutes. A woman’s voice teased him about having a girlfriend and then the door clicked shut.

“Shit—I almost forgot to tell you,” Frank said rapidly. “On the way to my dad’s place we stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts in Harrison and I saw Brendon. Guess he didn’t go to Vegas for the holidays.”

“Yeah, I figured he was lying.” Gerard sighed. “Did you talk to him?”

“I said ‘hi’ and he kind of freaked out and told me not to tell you I saw him there. He was camped out on the sidewalk with a guitar, busking for change. I might have told him off for being so shitty to you.”

“You didn’t threaten him, did you?”

“No, _geez_. I gave him twenty bucks and a pair of gloves and told him to call you.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

When Gerard ended the call his heart felt full.


	15. My Legendary Girlfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning: again with the explicit sex. If you're not into it, you can skip it. This chapter is so unnecessary I nearly cut it out. If you are into it, enjoy!

Thank fuck Christmas was over and Frank was finished with family obligations. They’d already spent two days in Gerard’s bedroom making up for lost time. Frank had shown up with an overnight bag and wearing his illusive eyeglasses. One of the kids in the Iero brood had conjunctivitis and passed it on to Frank, leaving his left eye painfully red and gross. Frank assured him it looked worse than it felt and he was more concerned with taking care to not infect Gerard. Gerard was so delighted with the thick black frames he made Frank leave them on during sex.

Clothes were only required when scavenging for food or coffee. Frank made dinner one night using Gerard’s shiny new colander to strain the gnocchi. Coffee was brewed with beans Frank had accumulated from all the stops on their last tour and ground in Gerard’s fancy new grinder (that Frank had given him for Christmas). His boyfriend was the best. Things had turned around. It was a bit easier to breathe and Gerard pushed his dark thoughts away to enjoy his time with Frank. Being with him was so good that Gerard wondered if he hadn’t woken up from his holiday slump.

His gift to Frank was unimaginative but Frank had gushed nonetheless. Gerard was the worst at coming up with ideas so he’d gone the safe route and given Frank a gift certificate—for the music shop he worked at. At least he could buy something he actually wanted. Frank assured him it was thoughtful even if Gerard didn’t believe him. It was okay though—Gerard had something else up his sleeve.

Frank didn’t dance—he’d made that clear when Gerard had asked. He denied that the flailing and thrashing he did on stage was anything akin to dancing. With that in mind, Gerard sold him on a night out with his art school friends, which Frank gleefully agreed to. He didn’t tell Frank in advance that they were going to a club. Gerard had a secret weapon. One that would surely pacify Frank if not lure him to the dance floor.

The whole thing was meant to be a surprise, so one day, when Gerard knew Frank had some band errands in the city, he arranged to meet him downtown. It gave Gerard ample time to primp and do himself up properly. He wanted to catch Frank off his guard.

Donning his furry black coat—the one Mikey called ‘a monstrosity of diva proportions’—he slipped into a pair of glossy black heels. It was still snowy outside but he wasn’t willing to compromise on the shoes. He flounced out the door, ignoring his cold ankles and frosty breath.

He splurged on a cab to the station and caught the train to Manhattan. No one gave him a second glance. He’d kept the make-up to a minimum: black to accentuate his eyes and cherry-red on his lips. The effort he’d invested in looking natural and not like a drag queen paid off. From a distance, at least, he resembled a woman. The blonde wig helped. It swished around his face, falling over his eyes and demurely obscuring his Adam’s apple.

They were meeting at a coffee shop near the village. When Gerard got there, he peeked through the glass storefront before going inside. It was one of those independent cafes, brightly lit and furnished in wood with stark, white everything else. He caught Frank’s profile, sat alone at a tiny table with a white cup and saucer before him, looking as handsome as ever. 

Even though it was freezing out, Gerard’s cheeks heated up and he smiled—Frank had no idea what he was in for. His stomach flipped with nerves and excitement. With a careful step, he pushed the door open. A bell jingled but the sound was buried in the noise of customers chatting, the clinging of dishes, and the grind and hiss of the espresso bar. The air was stuffy with heat and he undid his coat so he wouldn’t sweat beneath all the fake fur. 

Frank glanced at the door but his eyes didn’t linger; he was searching for Gerard’s leather jacket and fiery red hair. Gerard went to the counter and ordered a coffee, handed over a couple of bills and then waited by the steaming espresso machine, watching Frank. 

The bearded man behind the bar gave him a friendly smile as he handed him his Americano. It smelled heavenly. Gerard took his time fixing it, eyes on Frank’s slouched frame.

Holding his breath, he meandered over, his heels tap-tap-tapping across the wooden floor. Frank fiddled with his half-finished coffee, the ceramic grating as he twisted it around and around. He didn’t even notice when Gerard stopped beside him, close enough to touch. 

He hovered at Frank’s side, biting back a smirk. The hem of his dress grazed Frank’s thigh, so close that Frank had to see it. Gerard used a soft voice when he asked if the seat next to Frank was taken. Cliché, sure, but it did the trick.

“Sorry—do you mind?” Frank’s head snapped up sharply. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Who?” Gerard set his coffee on the table and slipped into the chair next to Frank. “You gotta hot date or something?” The expression on Frank’s face shifted from annoyed to shocked as his brain caught up with his mouth. “Wha?— _Whoah_.” His face lit up, eyes dancing with delight.

Gerard shook the shiny blonde hair out of his face and grinned back. “Hey, Frank.”

“Wow.” Frank cleared his throat. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Gerard bowed his head as he chuckled and Frank immediately brushed the hair from his face for a good look. His eyes widened, sparkling as they flicked up and down, taking it all in. He ran the backs of his fingers across Gerard’s cheek and leaned in to gently kiss him on the mouth, mindful of Gerard’s lacquered lips.

“You like?” Gerard asked, face still close enough for his lips to graze Frank’s mouth.

“Yes.” Frank looked Gerard up and down and fanned his face. “Yeah. A lot. I’m going to hell for how much I like,” he said quietly. “You look dazzling. I’m so underdressed.”

“Nah.” Gerard pulled Frank’s jacket lapel aside to inspect his wardrobe. Navy V-neck sweater over a striped t-shirt. Both crisp enough that they were likely Christmas gifts. Black jeans. Fashionably distressed but free of holes. They also looked new. “You look perfectly handsome.” Gerard smoothed his fingers down Frank’s chest. The sweater was as soft as cashmere. “Perfect for a dance club?” Gerard smiled with teeth.

Frank pursed his lips but it wasn’t enough to hide his smile. “Nice one. Should have known there’d be a catch. This is to distract me from the fact that we’re going dancing with your friends that I’ve never met before?”

“That okay?” Gerard sipped his coffee and nearly groaned over how strong it was. His lips left a waxy red stain on the rim but he didn’t wipe it off.

“I could eat you right now. I’m deliriously happy to go wherever you want to, baby.”

Gerard snorted, nearly knocking over his coffee. “I aim to please. I mostly dressed up to surprise you, not to coerce you into dancing with me. But if it helps…”

“Do I have to dance or can I just watch you?” 

“You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to.” Gerard tugged on Frank’s lip ring fondly. “Sophie doesn’t dance either.”

“These are all art school friends?” When Gerard nodded, Frank added, “Are they all gay, too?”

“No. Anthony’s straight and Sophie’s bi. You’ll like them—they’re both sweet. It’s the other two you have to watch out for. Gretchen has a good heart but she’s snarky. And Peter can be kind of… hmm… kind of an asshole.” Gerard sipped from his coffee. “I should warn you—we had sex a long time ago, back when I was drinking a lot. I’m sure he’ll bring it up to get a reaction out of you, so don’t take it personally.”

“And yet, you’re still friends?”

Gerard flapped a hand around. “He’s all talk—harmless once you get to know him. He and Sophie were the only school friends who stuck around after I quit drinking. After that, no one thought I was fun anymore.”

“Wow. That’s a pile of bullshit.” Frank traced his thumb over Gerard’s wrist. “You’re much better company than any of my friends. You’ve met them—they’re about as exciting as Sunday school when they’re trashed. I can’t imagine you were any better.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what they saw in me before I got sober.” Gerard made a face.

Frank ran his fingers over Gerard’s knuckles and tugged on the sleeve of his fake fur jacket. “You gonna show me what you’ve got hiding under the coat?”

“Later.” Gerard smirked. He carefully downed the rest of his coffee. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Definitely.” Frank stood up and offered Gerard his arm.

They walked the few short blocks to the club, Frank’s arm firm around Gerard’s waist as they navigated the slippery sidewalk. There was a short line-up to get inside and Gerard hoped they wouldn’t have to wait too long in the cold. He tucked his hands into Frank’s pockets and rubbed his nose into Frank’s neck to keep warm. Frank pulled Gerard closer, kissing him on the cheek.

“So, what’s this club like?”

“It’s chill—a mix of everything. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be comfortable like this. We used to come here a lot when we were in school, back when there weren’t as many gay clubs in the neighbourhood.”

“I guess your friends know, then? No surprises there?”

“Oh, yeah. I used to dress up once or twice a month and we’d all go dancing. All in good fun.” 

They went in after a reasonable amount of time and were greeted by a blast of warm, stuffy air and a repetitive techno beat. Gerard was loath to give up his coat but he let Frank slip it off and hand it to the girl at the coat check. He flicked his hair out of his eyes and waited for Frank to turn around.

It was worth the wait. Frank’s eyebrows shot sky-high. With a sly grin, he motioned for Gerard to turn around for him to get a good look. Frank leered at him as he cocked a hip and turned a graceful circle. The bottom of the dress flared out, the flimsy black material flowing around his calves. It was sleeveless and loosely fitted, running up to his neck at the front but completely open at the back. He’d found it at a thrift shop—love at first sight—but hadn’t yet had the balls to wear it out.

Frank closed in, skirting one hand up his arm and the other skimming down his spine until he had Gerard into a loose embrace. Frank’s palm was hot against the naked skin of his back and it made him shiver.

Teasing his fingers back and forth, Frank lowered his voice and said, “It’s not too late to get our coats back and leave, is it?” Gerard kissed his cheek and said, “Later, Baby. I wanna dance.” 

While Gerard scanned the room for his friends, Frank ordered them drinks. By the time Gerard had a club soda in his hand, he had spotted them near the back on the other side of the dance floor. Frank kept up with a hand pressed to Gerard’s back as he led him through the throngs of bodies in motion.

“Gerard Way, you little cocksucker!” Peter leapt up and pulled him into an enthusiastic hug. “Why didn’t you tell us you were doing the tit-thing tonight?” He groped Gerard through the thin material of his dress, squeezing his crotch so tight that Gerard squealed and stumbled into Frank.

“If you were aiming for my chest, you missed, you pervert,” Gerard said wryly.

“Peter Fleming, ladies and gentlemen.” Gretchen’s hand shot out at Frank. “Hi. I’m Gretchen. You can sit beside me.” As she manhandled Frank into the booth, he shot Gerard a panicked look, but it was too late. She waved a hand across the table, introducing him to Anthony and Sophie.

They were like a pack of hungry wolves, his friends descending on Frank like a lamb to the slaughter. Their excitement came off as aggressive and Gerard prayed that they’d all be on their best behaviour. While Gerard had spent much of his college years in garish gay bars, he knew Frank had not.

As they squeezed around the table, Gerard’s friends Peter started right away with the questions. Frank answered them gracefully until the conversation veered towards Frank and Gerard’s sex life. Gerard kicked Peter under the table with his pointy-toed shoes and he yelped.

“Damn those shoes.” Peter grimaced and rubbed his shin. “But I do love the dress.” He turned to Frank. “You know he has a dick, right?”

“Hey,” Gerard scolded him. “Back off or I’ll aim higher next time.”

“I do,” Frank replied, stroking a hand down Gerard’s back. “He has a magnificent dick.”

“It’s not that great.” Peter pretended to yawn. “You know I got there first—I’m sure he mentioned that.”

“Of course. It’s a pity you weren’t man enough for him.” Frank curled a possessive arm around Gerard’s shoulders. “My condolences, _champ_.” He gave Peter the finger and the table erupted in laughter at Peter’s stunned expression.

Gretchen smacked her hand on the table. “Oh, he’s a keeper!”

“Most definitely,” Gerard replied, tugged at Frank’s chin so he could kiss him on the mouth.

Gerard had been right to worry about all the dirt his friends had on him. While Sophie had the grace to not bring up ‘drunk Gerard,’ Peter had no problem at all. He fucking revelled in it. Gerard had to grit his teeth through several agonizing stories. Thankfully, most of them involved Gerard either passing out in public or making a pass at someone stone-cold sober who had enough sense to turn him down.

But later, when Peter had Gerard alone on the dance floor, he got all sappy and gave Gerard his approval. Gerard laughed and looked aside, searching for Frank. He was nodding at Gretchen but his eyes were on Gerard. The easy smile on his face prompted Gerard to wiggle his fingers at him in a come-hither motion. Frank shook his head.

“I’m serious with a capital ‘S,’” Peter said. Gerard gave him a look. “You’ve got that smile I haven’t seen since you got into Teacher’s College. You’re oozing happiness.”

Gerard couldn’t help but grin at that. “I guess, I am.”

Peter motioned with his head and when Gerard turned around, Frank was standing there with a dopey look on his face. “You win,” he said with a glint in his eye. “Do I ever,” Gerard replied, reeling Frank in and looping his arms around his neck.

Frank clamped his hands on Gerard’s waist and shuffled back and forth, seemingly incapable of matching the rhythm of the music. Gerard bit his lip and tried not to laugh; Frank was a terrible dancer. How did he manage to keep time playing guitar and singing on stage? How was this any different? It was like the techno beat was too much for his little punk heart to handle. 

“You’re thinking too hard,” Gerard said into Frank’s ear. He seized one of Frank’s hands and pulled him closer until their bodies were flush together. “Move with me.”

Using the sway of his hips, Gerard slowed his movements and Frank relaxed into the motion. Frank’s hands travelled up Gerard’s back, his calloused fingertips rough on Gerard’s skin as he stroked up his spine. Gerard shuddered, heat pooling in his belly and bleeding into his extremities until he felt feverish. When he sped up with the music, Frank was able to match him and they moved as one. Their groins brushed together and Gerard wasn’t surprised to find that they were both half-hard. Gerard tried not to grind—he’d have a tough time hiding a full erection under the dress.

An eighties remix came on and he leaned in to sing into Frank’s ear, “ _Don’t you want me, baby?”_ Frank shamelessly groped his ass in reply. 

At the end of the night, after their good-byes, Frank rushed him towards a cab and said no way was he dragging Gerard home on the train in his heels. They were both giggling like children as they shuffled into the back seat. Frank encircled his arms around Gerard’s shoulders and Gerard met him with an easy kiss. Before it could become heated, the cab driver cleared his throat. Gerard caught his eye in the rear-view mirror and the driver waggled a finger. “No funny business.”

When Frank scowled and lurched forward like he was going to give the driver a piece of his mind, Gerard cut in and apologized. “Sorry. No funny business.” He squeezed Frank’s leg. “Promise.” The cab driver received a saintly smile from Gerard and accepted it with a single nod.

Frank bit his tongue and eased back, securing Gerard snug under his arm. His warmth was intoxicating. The temptation to kiss him again was strong so Gerard tucked his head under Frank’s neck. Frank chastely kissed the top of his head and covertly slid his hand over Gerard’s knee and squeezed. 

“Did you have fun?” Gerard asked, breathing into Frank’s neck.

“Yeah.” Frank rucked up the hem of Gerard’s dress to curl his hand around his leg. Gerard shivered despite the hot flush at the back of his neck. The only thing separating Frank’s fingers from Gerard’s skin was a pair of cheap pantyhose. “Your friends are pretty crazy but cool.” Frank traced patterns on Gerard’s thigh, slowly climbing higher and higher.

Gerard replied, “They’re good people.” He straightened up and gave Frank a pointed look but didn’t forcibly stop him. The pressure grew firmer, nails scraping as his hand disappeared under the flimsy material of Gerard’s dress. It sent tingles up his leg that quickly spread across his midsection. His body bowed reflexively and he sucked in a grounding breath. His cheeks were too hot. He tossed his blonde hair and looked out the window. When Frank gripped his thigh, Gerard let out a sigh and squirmed. 

Softly, so the cab driver couldn’t hear him through the noise of the traffic, Frank put his lips to Gerard’s ear. “I can’t wait to get you out of that dress. I’m getting between those thighs and never leaving.” He squeezed to demonstrate and gave Gerard a look, daring him to say something or maybe teasing him. His eyes were on Gerard’s mouth. He licked his lips and then bit his lip ring into his mouth like he couldn’t help himself. 

“Stop,” Gerard scolded, nudging him with a shoulder. 

Frank grinned and ducked his head but he didn’t stop. His hand trailed higher, blunt fingernails scraping gently between his legs until his pinkie grazed Gerard’s dick. It sparked pleasure that ran like a current shocking Gerard’s groin. In an instant, he found himself rock hard in his silky underwear. With a snap, he slapped his hand over Frank’s to keep him still. Thankfully, they were almost home. 

Frank waved a couple of twenties at the cab driver before the car came to a stop. They climbed out and Gerard had to steady himself on his feet. The driveway was slippery and the heels made it dangerous to rush. He was not keen on a visit to the ER with a made-up face and sporting fancy underwear. Frank held onto him as they made their way to the house.

Inside, they dumped their outerwear like it was on fire and Frank followed Gerard up the stairs. They fell into the bedroom and Gerard slammed the door shut. In one fluid motion, he forced Frank back against it and stuck his tongue into his mouth. They kissed deeply, frantic like the electricity that had been coursing through Gerard’s body all night. Frank breathed heavily, his hands grappling for Gerard’s arms and snaking around his body to pull him closer. The chiffon-like fabric of his dress shifted against his legs. It tickled like a gentle breeze and his cock stirred.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Frank said. 

Their hips met. Frank was hard against Gerard’s thigh so he pushed into him, grinding until he pulled a groan out of Frank. He kissed across Frank’s face, leaving smudges of lipstick along his cheek and wispy blonde hairs caught in the stubble on his chin. He breathed into Frank’s neck and sucked on his earlobe until Frank started grabbing at him impatiently. 

Frank tucked his hands down the open back of Gerard’s dress and made a pleased noise. He reached further and found Gerard’s other surprise—a pair of satin and lace underwear. His fingers skimmed the silky surface as he groped Gerard’s ass. Gerard revelled in the touch, the way Frank’s hands were caught under the pantyhose and how he seemed desperate to reach the backs of his thighs. 

With a flick of his wrist, Gerard unzipped Frank’s jeans and whispered into his ear, “I’m going to blow you.”

He gave Frank another kiss and slid to his knees, wrestling Frank’s pants down with him. Frank stumbled, catching his hands on Gerard’s shoulders. Gerard peered up through strands of hair and they locked eyes. Frank’s face was slack but his gaze was intensely focused. Gerard shuddered and bit his lip. He ran his hands around to grip the backs of Frank’s thighs, pulling him closer. 

Frank cursed and stooped down for one more kiss, his tongue searching, lips biting. Then he smoothed his hand over the bounce of Gerard’s blonde hair and a fond smile spread across his face. 

Gerard pushed his hair from his eyes with one hand and rubbed Frank’s cock through his briefs with the other. They were damp when he ran the heel of his hand up the length. He pressed harder, teasing his thumb around the head. 

Frank wriggled under his fingers. “C’mon, Gerard, please.” 

Gerard tugged Frank’s briefs down to his knees. A few strands of hair stuck to his hand. No way was he getting come on his wig; it was expensive and annoying to clean. His scalp was hot and itchy, too, so he lifted it off his head and tossed it onto a pile of clothes.

Pushing up Frank’s shirt, he kissed across his stomach and licked a wet path south until his chin brushed Frank’s dick. He ducked and with a flat tongue, mouthed at the head. When Frank shifted in complaint, Gerard curled his tongue and took him all the way into his mouth. “Oh, fuck. Yes, please. Oh my god.” Frank groaned and touched a hand to Gerard’s face, caressing it as he moved through Gerard’s lips.

Gerard shifted closer, trying to match Frank’s stuttered pace. He sucked, rolling his tongue along the underside of Frank’s cock while Frank fucked his face. He put a hand on Gerard’s shoulder and cradled his cheek with the other, rubbing his thumb where his dick pressed out from the inside of Gerard’s mouth. He’d stopped talking and started panting and sputtering nonsensical noises.

It wasn’t long before Frank’s body tensed up and Gerard knew he was close to coming. He pulled away and replaced his mouth with a hand, squeezing in a vice-like grip. “Frank.” Frank groaned in complaint and tried to rut into his hand. Gerard held tight. “Frank.” Shaky, Gerard stumbled to his feet and although dazed and desperate, Frank helped him up, running his hands through Gerard’s matted hair. Frank’s eyes were huge. Gerard breathed out and whispered, “You wanna come like this or do you wanna fuck me?” punctuating his words by squeezing Frank’s dick.

Something washed over Frank’s face. He blinked and tugged at his lip ring with his teeth. He shook his head and said, “I want—will you do me?”

Gerard studied him for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Okay.” Gerard slowly rubbed his hand up and down Frank’s crotch until Frank’s eyes closed. “I’d love to.” He pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Frank’s parted lips.

“Um, I haven’t eaten all day and I washed _really_ well,” Frank said quickly. 

“You don’t have to convince me.” Gerard smiled and bit at Frank’s lip ring with his teeth. “Besides, I’m not afraid of a bit of mess.”

Frank’s cheeks coloured. They kissed, gently at first and slowly increasing in intensity. Frank tugged and Gerard fell into him, helpless. Frank’s hands roamed his body with new intensity. Stroked down his arms and up the back of his thighs under his dress. Shucking it higher and higher, he slipped the garment up and off Gerard’s head. Then he peeled down the cursed pantyhose.

That left Gerard one pair of black satin underwear away from being completely naked. Frank’s hands went straight for Gerard’s cock, rubbing him through the slinky fabric. Gerard gasped into it, pushing into Frank’s fingers and parting his lips with his tongue.

They fumbled against each other as Gerard tried to pull off Frank’s top while still kissing him. Frank refused to remove his hands from Gerard’s dick. They reached a stalemate and had to separate, Frank laughing as he yanked off his clothes and brought their bodies together again. Frank’s hot, hard cock rubbed smoothly against the satin as he guided Gerard backwards to the bed. 

As Gerard fell back, Frank climbed on top of him, slipping his hand between them to slide his hand over Gerard’s erection. It sent a charge through his body and he whimpered. He wrestled Frank’s hands away and took a deep breath to stop himself from coming. 

Frank crawled up the bed and laid down on top of Gerard. Their bodies were on fire. Flesh sticky and pulses racing. Between kisses, Gerard breathed out, “You’re so beautiful. I’m going to fuck you. I want to be inside you when you come,” and Frank muttered, “Yes, yes, yes,” into Gerard’s mouth. He ran his fingers through Gerard’s hair. “Anything you want. Everything.”

“You wanna stay on top like that?” Frank quickly shook his head. 

They kissed and Gerard rolled them over. Frank ran his hands down Gerard’s chest, stopping to tug at his satin underwear. Gerard wrestled them off, his cock finally bobbing free. He straddled Frank and let Frank stroke his dick a few times before slipping out of his grasp. His body was fired up. He wanted to fuck Frank’s hand until he came but the thought of penetrating him was too much to resist.

He dug through the drawer where he kept his condoms and lube. Frank watched him, red-faced and holding the base of his cock like he was ready to blow. Gerard tossed a condom on the bed. He bypassed the KY for the good stuff, squeezing a fat blob of his expensive lube onto his fingers. 

As he crawled between Frank’s legs, Frank shifted and settled against the pillows. The sheen of sweat coating his body made his tattoos shimmer in the light and Gerard wanted to lick each and every one of them. He started by tonguing Frank’s thigh as his slick fingers found Frank’s hole. Frank grunted, widening his knees as Gerard started kissing up Frank’s body.

Frank was tense and tight so Gerard worked his fingers carefully. Their lips met and Gerard licked into Frank’s mouth to steal away his heavy breaths and sighs. He couldn’t ignore their hard dicks pressed together between their stomachs but he tried not to thrust into it. Both of them were teetering at the edge as it was.

Frank relaxed enough to allow a finger inside. Gerard bit Frank’s lower lip. He felt around until he hit Frank’s prostate—Frank jerked, groaning around Gerard’s name in his mouth. Gerard breathed in his ear and told him all the dirty things he wanted to do to him while wanton like that. When he pulled his finger away Frank complained, clutching at Gerard’s shoulders.

Gerard lubed up his fingers again and quickly returned to massaging Frank’s hole. One finger. Then two. Every time he stopped to massage his prostate, Frank cursed and wriggled beneath him. Gerard bent to lick at Frank's dick when he eased in another finger and Frank nearly lost it.

When Frank started begging, Gerard removed his fingers and tore open the condom. His dick was swollen an angry red, wet at the tip and twitching by its own accord. Gerard had to hold his breath while he rolled it on, batting Frank’s hands away from helping him. 

“Don’t,” he grit out between clenched teeth. “I’m gonna come if you touch me.”

Frank touched Gerard’s chest instead, rubbing his thumbs over his nipples. He looked a bit dazed as he chewed his lip ring between his teeth. Gerard leaned over and kissed him lightly, meeting his eyes with a questioning look.

“It’s good, I’m good.” Frank put his fingers to Gerard’s lips to keep him from speaking. Gerard bit the tips before pulling them into his mouth, sucking gently. Then he pulled away. He slid his hands under Frank’s thighs, hefting his knees over his shoulders and told Frank to take a deep breath.

As Frank inhaled, Gerard lined up his cock and pushed in.

It felt fucking amazing. Slick and tight and _holy fuck_ if he wasn’t careful he was gonna come before he could push any deeper. The sensation coursed along his cock and spread through his entire body, hot and shivery. Frank cursed and Gerard risked a move. He eased in the rest of the way until his dick was snug in tight. Breathing out steadily, he met Frank’s eyes and started thrusting, watching every move play out across Frank’s face.

They were both panting between noises of pleasure. Frank’s hands were everywhere: caressing Gerard’s face, up his arms and down his chest, reaching for his back and clinging tighter. Frank had his legs clamped tight, hot and heavy where they weighed down on Gerard’s neck and shoulders. Gerard was lost in Frank’s dark hooded gaze, holding on because he wanted to make this good for Frank. He wanted to do this again.

When Gerard got close, he put a hand around Frank’s cock and jerked him in time with his thrusts. He pressed their foreheads together as though they could get closer. Frank’s cheek burned against Gerard’s face and they shared gasps of air between them.

Gerard picked up the pace. They were one single ball of heat and energy. Every inch of skin burning with pleasure and insides wobbling in anticipation. As Gerard pushed in, he squeezed over the head of Frank’s cock. Frank started muttering words of desperation and when he got his hands on the back of Gerard’s thighs, Gerard let go, coming with a strangled sound. The orgasm washed over him in a wave. Nerves firing and muscles twitching. Legs turning to jello. He stilled and pressed his lips to Frank’s jaw, working Frank’s dick until he shuddered and groaned, spilling over Gerard’s hand.

Gerard pulled out carefully and disposed of the condom. Frank lay there boneless and spent, without batting an eye. Gerard shuffled closer, leaning into Frank’s side and stroking his hair until his lids parted. With heavy eyes and a drunken smile, he drew Gerard in for a thorough kiss. They both slumped back. Gerard side-eyed Frank, half cocky and half in wonder.

Frank shifted minutely. “We’re definitely doing that again.”

“Not right now.” Gerard pressed his smile into Frank’s shoulder and poked at the sticky mess on his stomach.

“Not right now,” Frank agreed with a lazy smirk. “Maybe if I was sixteen.” Gerard hummed his agreement into Frank’s neck. “Although at that age I wouldn’t have let you anywhere near my ass, so it’s a moot point.” He ruffled a hand through Gerard’s hair and kissed his cheek.

“It was good though?” Gerard asked.

“Amazing. I didn’t know it would feel like that. My ass doesn’t hurt at all.”

Gerard snorted into Frank’s neck. “Good.” He stretched and forced himself to sit up. “My feet, however, are killing me.” He bent a knee, tucking it into Frank’s armpit so he could massage the ball of his foot.

“Your feet?” Frank shuffled until was upright enough to look at Gerard’s feet. 

“The heels,” Gerard explained, grimacing as he poked his toes where they were numb. Frank patted his pecs and said, “Give ‘em here.” He reached out his hands. Gerard shuffled around and then stopped, poking at Frank’s belly. 

“There’s still cum everywhere. And lipstick on your dick,” Gerard added with a snort. Frank peered down his midsection. He sighed and then said, “You get a washcloth to clean up and then I’ll rub your feet.”

“Deal.”


	16. Deep Fried in Kelvin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning: homophobic language

Understandably, Gerard despised New Year’s Eve. There was little point in going out if you didn’t drink; it was soul-crushing to watch people get plastered from the sidelines. He’d love to drink himself into a stupor but he hadn’t spent all these years battling an addiction to throw it all away. One night of blissful numbness was not worth it and besides, it wouldn’t stop there. Tonight though, Gerard needed help in the self-restraint department. Pencey Prep had a show and there was no way he would miss it. At least he’d have someone to kiss at midnight.

But until then, Gerard was lazing around with time to kill because the band had holed themselves up to rehearse all afternoon. Frank had invited him along, but he knew if he hung out there he’d only be a distraction to Frank and would spend the day fending off dirty looks from the rest of the band.

Brendon was still on his mind. Gerard knew he’d lied about going to visit his sister and it still hurt. It saddened him to imagine Brendon spending the holidays alone. Out in the cold, begging for money instead of eating a big Christmas dinner. No presents under the tree. No family gathered around the piano for carols. He wondered if he had plans tonight or would be alone for New Year’s too. The thought nagged at him until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Mikey was camped out in the living room playing the new Star Wars game when Gerard breezed through. Gerard was mildly tempted to join him but having decided to find Brendon, he found he couldn’t let it go. He threw Mikey a, “See you later,” before flying out the door. He couldn’t lie to his face and if he confessed what he was up to, he’d get a lecture and they’d start fighting again and Gerard couldn’t handle that.

It was probably crossing a line, but Gerard had Brendon’s address from the form he’d filled out when Gerard had hired him to work with his class. The neighbourhood he lived in was grim as expected, in the student ghetto and alarmingly close to the Essex County Juvenile Detention centre and several auto body shops. The houses lined a single block on both sides, all tired-looking and worn and most bearing marks of student housing: beer cans and ashtrays on the porch, flags or mismatched curtains in the windows, and bicycles chained to the porch railings.

Gerard sandwiched the car into the first empty space he spotted on the street. When he got out he first scanned the street for Brendon’s car—a godawful purple Ford Escort you couldn’t fucking miss. He didn’t see the car but he found the house easily enough, picking the address out of a row of ill-maintained Colonial houses with dingy yellow siding and bars on the windows.

He trudged up the unshovelled steps to meet the front door, which was also protected by sturdy black bars. There was no buzzer so Gerard rapped on the glass. Greeted with a minute or two of silence, he knocked more insistently. Finally, there was stirring inside and the door swung open. A girl in a skin-tight tank top and pink track pants squinted at him through tangled blonde hair.

“What?” She opened the outer door using her body to shield Gerard’s view of the inside.

“Is Brendon home? I’m a friend.”

“Wrong house.” She stepped back and Gerard caught his hand in the door before she could close it.

“Brendon Urie? This is Hecker Street. I’m sure this is the right address. Maybe he moved out?” 

The girl shook her head. “Never heard of him. Me and Jenny have lived here all semester.” She gave him a sharp look and added, “My boyfriend’s here if you wanna ask him instead.” Gerard shrank back—he certainly didn’t.

He apologized and left, lighting a cigarette on his way back to the car. Either she was lying or Brendon’s roommates were dicking around. While he smoked he tried Brendon’s cell. No answer. Dread and curiosity churned through his stomach. Now he had to know what was going on.

The next stop was the college admissions office. It wasn’t far and they would have his correct address. With most of the campus closed for the holidays, it was dead quiet inside. A young woman with dark hair pulled back in a messy bun and delicate wireframe glasses manned the front counter. She sat hunched over with her elbows on the desk, reading from her computer screen. She had a blank look on her face and Gerard couldn’t if she was bored or focussed. He tousled his hair and greeted her with his cheeriest smile.

Right away she refused to give him Brendon’s address. It had crossed his mind to lie but he couldn’t come up with anything believable and he was terrible at lying. So, he went with the truth, in great excruciating detail. He told her about Brendon helping with his class and how worried he was that he couldn’t find him. 

Finally, she sighed—probably sick of Gerard’s blathering—and gave him a long look. Then she nodded. Somehow, Gerard had charmed her and she caved. She couldn’t outright give him the address but she could confirm that the one he had was correct. Gerard’s heart sank. He thanked her and went back out into the cold.

But Gerard wouldn’t give up yet. He got back in the car and decided to drive around the neighbourhood and think. He might have to wait until classes started again to find him. Then he’d have to sweet-talk someone into giving him Brendon’s schedule or start hanging around the practice studios. He sighed. Yeah, like that would go over well. A high school teacher stalking a seventeen-year-old college student? That’s not creepy at all.

Fuck. This was the shit Mikey excelled at. He was believable when he lied thanks to his stone-faced demeanour. And he knew way more people in town. Gerard cruised down Hecker Street again and noticed someone leaving the dingy yellow house. He hit the brakes. The guy looked like the roommate—the tall, blond, beefy guy that had been harassing Brendon the day Gerard had met him. 

Cursing, Gerard steered the car into the curb and shot out the door, rushing across the road. A car honked, swerving to miss him as he skidded to the other side. Adrenaline pumping, he clambered over a pile of snow and slid onto the sidewalk. The blond walked on, oblivious to Gerard’s chase. 

When Gerard caught up with him, all he could get out was a breathless, “Hey, hold on.” 

“Fuck off.” The blond replied and kept walking.

Panting and trying to catch his breath, Gerard called out, “Wait! I’m looking for Brendon. Do you know where he is?”

“Nope,” he called out.

“Wait—Wait!” Gerard touched his elbow and the blond finally stopped and spun around. Fuck, he was tall. And broad like he spent hours a day lifting and grunting at the gym. Even his expression was menacing. Gerard put his hands up in surrender. “I’m just looking for him. I know he didn’t go to Vegas. I want to talk to him, make sure he’s okay.”

The guy put his hands on his hips, giving Gerard a once-over before shooting him a glare. “How the fuck would I know where he is?”

“Uh, you’re his roommate,” Gerard said incredulously.

“His roommate?” The guy scoffed. “That little piece of shit faggot? Not a chance.”

“Hey!” Gerard snapped. “Don’t be an asshole.”

The guy loomed closer, flexing his chest in a power pose as though preparing to pound Gerard to a pulp. His eyes narrowed, daring Gerard to continue. But Gerard matched his pose, standing his ground and sending back his best _fuck you_ face. 

Finally, the guy said, “I don’t know where your boyfriend is and I don’t give a shit.”

“But you know him?”

“What are you—a fucking cop?”

Gerard scoffed and motioned at himself. “Do I look like a fucking cop?” The blond shrugged apathetically and Gerard continued, “How do you know Brendon?”

The guy looked Gerard over for a long time, before replying, “He’s a dealer. My friend bought weed from him. Once.”

Gerard’s eyebrows went up. “He’s a what?”

“He sells drugs. Seriously, you didn’t know your boyfriend is a drug dealer?”

A little stunned, Gerard shook his head. “Who’s your friend. The one he sold weed to?”

“Nope, we’re done here.” The blond turned and walked away. Gerard didn’t follow him.

When he got home, his head was spinning with confusion. He dumped his outerwear in a pile inside the front door and headed for the sofa, collapsing onto it. Mikey gave him a look but continued playing his video game.

Emotions raging, Gerard bit the inside of his cheek and picked at his cuticles. He focussed on chewing at hangnails while he thought about how stupid he was. What else had Brendon lied about?

Mikey’s arm shot out to swat Gerard’s hand from his mouth. He paused the game and pointedly turned his attention to Gerard.

“Where were you?”

“Looking for Brendon,” Gerard muttered. “Because I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” Mikey poked Gerard until he stopped biting on his nails. “What happened?”

“You were right about him. He’s a goddamned drug dealer.”

As Gerard explained everything that had happened, Mikey cleaned his glasses with the bottom of his shirt as though it would give him clarity of thought. Gerard slumped back against the sofa and shook his head. “I should have listened to you. I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not.”

“You knew,” Gerard said. “You warned me about him and you were right.”

“Gee, I thought he was trying to get in your pants, not selling smack to your students.”

“Oh, fuck!” Gerard slapped a hand to his head. “Do you think he sold drugs to my class? I hired him to work with them. I could get in so much shit for this.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t know.” Mikey sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “And I’m not sure I believe it.”

“That guy was not bright enough to come up with all that on his own. There’s no way he’s that good of an actor.”

“Yeah, but neither is Brendon.” Mikey sighed heavily and hugged him. “Gee, I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck do I do now?”

“What do you wanna do?”

Gerard sighed. “Is it crazy that I still want to help him? I kind of feel responsible now. He’s seventeen for Christ’s sake!”

“Okay,” Mikey said calmly. “We find him then. Make him explain. Gee, he’s underage—if that shit’s true, then he’s in big fucking trouble.”

They sat for a few minutes, Mikey with his head cocked and his thinking face on and Gerard frowning as he made a massacre of his cuticles. If Brendon was involved with drugs, then maybe they should talk to a dealer.

In a small voice, Gerard said, “I could call Blake?”

“Jesus Christ—Fuck, no, Gerard. You’re not calling your old dealer.” Mikey slapped a hand to his forehead, displacing his glasses. “Blake-the-snake, Jesus, fucking, Christ, Gerard.” He yanked his glasses off to massage at the bridge of his nose. Face bare and resigned, he gave Gerard a hard look. “He goes to RU, right? And Frank saw him panhandling near Lincoln Park?”

“Yeah.”

“I might know someone in the area.” Mikey put his glasses back on.

“Someone?” Gerard gave Mikey a half-hearted shove. “A drug dealer, Mikey?”

“Better intel than fucking Blake. His clients are all rich kids who take speed because _school is hard_ ,” Mikey finished in a mocking voice.

“He _is_ a rich kid—his father’s a surgeon. How do you think he gets all the prescription drugs?” 

Mikey sighed and adjusted his glasses. His face fell into sadness and he patted Gerard’s knee. “You sit tight—chill the fuck out while I go make some calls. We’ll find him.”

*

A couple of hours later they were in the car on their way to meet up with a ‘friend’ of Mikey’s. Despite Mikey’s calm, Gerard was freaking the fuck out. With shaky hands, he lit a smoke and tried not to let his thoughts get ahead of him.

“I don’t understand why we have to meet him. Couldn’t he tell you if he knows anything?”

“He did, but I wanna be sure. Hence the photos.” Mikey wiggled his camera in the air. He still had pictures of Brendon from the Christmas play on it.

“You can tell me what he said. I won’t freak out.”

“You’re already freaking out.”

What should have been a ten-minute drive turned into half an hour with all the fucking traffic. Fuck New Year’s Eve. He pulled into the parking lot of a coffee shop at Elizabeth and Runyon. A bunch of people were camped out near the dumpster. Piles of clothing and random items littered the area, blurring the line between trash and possessions. Some of them were sprawled out and unconscious. One man was propped up against a brick wall, twitching uncontrollably. A scuffed-up BMW pulled in and the couple that got out were in the middle of a fight. They passed by, the woman teetering on her heels and screeching while the man chased after her waving his hands in the air.

“Mikey…” Gerard said distractedly. “This is so sketchy.”

“Relax.” Mikey popped the door open. “Stay in the car.”

“Fuck no!” Gerard scrambled for the door handle, rapidly shaking his head. “You are not going out there alone.”

He followed Mikey across the parking lot. Three men were huddled around the driver’s side window of a black Cadillac Escalade. Two middle-aged: one wearing a windbreaker with his grey hair pulled back in a ponytail and the other in a bulky, shapeless black coat that matched his unkempt beard. The younger man, in dirty jeans and gleaming white sneakers, approached them with a grin, showing off his matching pearly whites.

“Mikey Way. _Whatup, homeskillet_?” They fist-bumped and Mikey nodded back. “Sup? This is my brother, Gee.” The guy offered his fist but not his name. Gerard reluctantly bumped back and stayed quiet. Their familiarity sent a chill up his spine so he zoned out while they shot the shit. Seeing the addicts sleeping on the ground made him want to cry. Mentally, he’d been there and he knew there was little he could do to help.

Mikey whipped out his camera to show the guy what Brendon looked like and Gerard snapped to attention. The guy nodded and Gerard’s heart kicked it up a notch.

“Oh, yeah. That’s him. I sell him a little MJ now and then, y’know?” He nudged Mikey in the arm. “He’s got a mouth on ‘im. Sucks a good dick, not that I’d know—I’m into the ladies. But, Marc over there,”—he motioned at someone—“He’s into that shit. Ain’t ya Marc?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Marc strode over. He gave Gerard and Mikey a steady once-over and then looked at the pictures. “He hustles over on Sherman. He ain’t cheap but he’s got a pretty mouth.”

Gerard spent a moment in shock and then totally lost it, wind-milling his arms as he cried out, “He’s a fucking kid!” Mikey yanked him back and cut him a look. They had a heated conversation with facial expressions before Gerard yielded. He crossed his arms and stared at the pavement. 

Mikey explained that he was their twenty-one-year-old cousin. When they got back in the car Mikey threw his hands in the air. “Are you crazy, Gerard? You can’t say shit like that. If they knew Brendon was underage we’d all be in trouble.”

“But he is. And he’s fucking hustling? I can’t even…” Gerard shook his head. He bit his lip hard enough to hurt and sniffed.

“It’s fucked up, Gee. I know.” Mikey squeezed Gerard’s arm. “It’s up to you. What do you want to do?”

“We can’t go to the police. We have to find him.” Gerard shook his head miserably.

They bought large coffees and set out to pull an honest-to-goodness stakeout from the front seat of Gerard’s Caprice Classic. En route, Mikey spotted a purple car parked on East Bigelow. Brendon himself was nowhere in sight but at least they were on the right trail. Mikey directed him where to park on Sherman to watch the corner discreetly. It disturbed Gerard to no end that his brother was familiar with the habits of male prostitutes. 

A group of men huddled on the corner, none of them dressed for the cold winter weather. When a shiny black Camaro pulled up, two of them dashed to the window to try their luck. A slim, tawny-haired man climbed in the passenger seat as the other shuffled back to the group with disappointment.

One by one, cars slowed at the curb long enough to whisk away a warm body. Sometimes they’d disappear down alleyways. It sickened him to think of Brendon out there doing the same thing. Any of those guys doing that, really. That life was so bad they’d resorted to hustling to get by. In the dead of winter nonetheless. He chewed his nails down to nothing and drank his coffee.

They were slouched low in their seats to stay out of view, but eventually, someone spotted them. A man with a collared jacket and a swagger approached the car and Gerard panicked. He reeled Mikey in by his arms, limbs flailing as their foreheads smacked together. Mikey groaned and Gerard grabbed the back of Mikey’s head, angling them to hide their faces.

“Some dude is watching us,” Gerard whispered against Mikey’s cheek. “Put your hands on my face so he can’t see us _not kissing_ and maybe he’ll leave us alone.” Mikey snorted but did as Gerard told him. The guy wandered away and Mikey burst out laughing as he rubbed at his forehead. “Smooth, Gee. Is that how you got Frank into bed?”

“Shut up,” Gerard said lightly. “If they think we’re watching them, they might start something. Or worse, call the cops. I do not want to get arrested for soliciting a prostitute.”

They sat for hours. Gerard’s coffee had long been drained when his bladder started to protest. He thought about giving up and going home. Then a car pulled up ahead and a familiar dark-haired figure got out. Gerard bolted upright as his hand flew to the door handle. Before he could get it open, Mikey clasped his arm.

“Gee, hang on. If he sees us charging down the street it’ll give him time to run.”

Brendon leaned into the wall, head hung low as he talked to a tall man smoking a cigarette. He hopped up and down, tucking his hands into his hoody pocket like he was cold. Gerard wondered what had happened to the coat he’d given him. Right away, another car pulled up and Brendon pushed himself from the wall, skipping towards it.

Gerard started the engine. They sailed the short distance and the second Gerard had the car in park, Mikey leapt out. With a curse, Gerard scrambled out after him. When Mikey caught Brendon by the arm someone shouted and all the guys on the corner reacted, causing a commotion. As Brendon struggled to break free, the other guys surrounded them.

“Brendon!” Gerard called out.

Brendon swore and jerked free as someone pushed Mikey backwards. He stumbled and Gerard moved with a force of rage. “Hey! Get your hands off him!” He stepped in front of Mikey. Brendon finally noticed him. Clearly considering it, Brendon looked at the glossy white car that had stopped and then back at Gerard. “Brendon, what the fuck? Come here.”

Brendon didn’t move. “What are you doing here?”

The window rolled down and a man called out, “Hey, you.” He waved a hand in their direction. “How much?”

When Gerard lunged to grab Brendon he slipped behind a man who looked like he meant business. 

“Gerard.” Mikey shot him a warning look. 

Gerard huffed and crossed his arms. “What the hell are you doing out here? I wanted to know if you were okay but clearly you’re not.” He motioned at the guys on the street and the car Brendon was considering climbing into. “Can we talk? Please?”

Brendon peeked out from behind the scary guy. “I’m fine. Go home.”

The other men crowded in closer, eyes narrowed and fists raised. “Yeah, get the fuck out of here”—“He don’t owe you shit”—“Get outta here, man”—“We’ll call the cops.”

Gerard called their bluff and threw out a hard look. “By all means, call them.”

The perv in the car said, “In or out kid, I don’t have time for this shit.”

When Brendon hesitated, Gerard elbowed his way through, shouting, “He is a fucking kid, asshole! He’s seventeen and if you don’t get the fuck out of here I’ll call the cops myself!”

The car tires squealed on the pavement as he accelerated and disappeared down the street. It was silent for a solid minute as the crowd slowly backed off with wide eyes. Mikey had a proud grin on his face. 

“Brendon, you don’t have a choice here. If you won’t come home with us, then I’m gonna have to call the police. You can’t be out here alone.”

Brendon deflated. He looked fucking exhausted as he stood there shivering. With a resigned sigh, he nodded and followed them to the car. Mikey opened the passenger door and motioned for Brendon to get in the front.

With careful deliberation, Gerard decided that the donut shop bathrooms were too far away and told Mikey to stand guard while he went to take a piss. It wasn’t the least classy thing he’d ever done but it was risky, considering the neighbourhood and the fact that he had chosen a dark alley to dash down. But he was like, seconds away from pissing himself. Out of sight from the street, he hurried to unzip and groaned in relief as the stream hit the wall.

Fuck. This was not the New Year’s Eve he’d planned. It was late. He was running out of time to shower and primp but he could still make Frank’s show. And get his midnight kiss. 

As he zipped up he heard a click. Like the cock of a gun. He spun around, immediately blinded by the bright beam of a flashlight. “Hands up where we can see them!”

Gerard’s heart leapt into his throat. He obliged, slowly raising his arms. He couldn’t see their faces for the glaring light, just the silhouettes of two uniforms. At least it was a pair of cops and not a mugger, rapist or murderer. He was still scared shitless.

“Put your hands on your head and get down on your knees, slowly.” 

He lowered to the ground, his heart beating furiously against his ribcage. Hands trembling, he clasped them on top of his head. Unfamiliar hands started patting him down and his body went rigid. The other cop had a gun trained at his chest. He focussed on breathing in and out. 

When they were satisfied he was unarmed, he was cuffed and frogmarched out of the alley. All procedure, he knew, but he was fucking terrified. In hindsight, pissing himself on the way home would have been preferable to this. He fought the urge to run to Mikey when he saw him. He and Brendon were standing beside the car, the pair of them as white as sheets.

“What’s going on? He didn’t do anything.” Mikey jerked forward, stopping when the female cop held up a hand in warning. “Stay there and be quiet.”

“Where’s your ID?” the male cop barked into Gerard’s ear.

“Wallet—back pocket.”

The cop shoved him toward the police cruiser and he stumbled. Then he was shoved face down over the hood and his stomach dropped like he was falling. His chest hit the car with a thud and he grunted as the breath was knocked out of him. When the cop went for his wallet his muscles twitched in response. Fight or flight instincts surged and he fought to stay still. Either would get him into serious trouble.

Once the cop retrieved Gerard’s wallet, he walked away. Gerard closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cold metal of the car. His fingers were numb. The adrenaline from earlier had worn off and he was fucking freezing. His arms hurt, muscles strained from being wrenched behind his back. His head was spinning so he started counting in his head. He couldn’t lose it in front of a couple of cops. Uniforms with guns and his entire future in their hands.

But he couldn’t catch his breath. It came in quicker and quicker until he was gasping for air, his body shaking uncontrollably. Hyperventilating. Tears ran icy tracks down his face.

He heard Mikey talking to the female cop. He couldn’t hear what they said but he prayed Mikey wouldn’t do anything stupid. Car doors opened and shut and then it was quiet save for footsteps treading towards him.

“Are you alright?” The female cop touched his arm. “Can you stand up?”

He struggled to right himself and nearly toppled over. The cop caught his arms and pulled him upright, holding him steady. The cold air nipped at his damp cheeks but he couldn’t wipe it off with his hands still cuffed behind his back. He tried to breathe through the indignity of it and choked instead.

“Easy,” she said.

Gerard couldn’t help himself. “Is my brother okay?”

“He’s worried about you being cold. Here.” She had Gerard’s parka. He was grateful when she wrapped it around his shoulders, pulling it snug around him like a blanket. 

“Thanks,” he said with a sniffle.

She nodded in reply. She had kind eyes. Gerard guessed from her age and tact she probably either had children or was accustomed to dealing with them. At the moment he certainly felt like a child.

“Jesus Christ, Warner, stop mollycoddling him.”

She side-eyed her partner. He tossed Gerard’s wallet at her and she scrambled to catch it. “Go get the other two out of the car,” he barked. Then he got right up in Gerard’s face, blinding him with a small flashlight. “Follow the light with your eyes.” When he lowered it, he asked if Gerard had been drinking even though he hadn’t been anywhere near the car.

“No, sir.” Gerard shook his head for emphasis. “I don’t drink.” The cop tilted his head and shot him a look like he didn’t believe him. “I’m a recovered alcoholic. I haven’t had a drink in three years.”

“Well, la-di-da for you. Any illegal substances of any kind?”

Gerard shook his head and noticed Mikey and Brendon were out of the car. The scary cop un-cuffed Gerard and made him perform a couple of sobriety tests—recite the alphabet, stand on one leg, walk a straight line and touch his nose. How many times had he been out driving drunk like an idiot and never been pulled over? If this was payback, it fucking sucked but he acknowledged that he’d had it coming. He deserved this. The universe was merely re-balancing for his past behaviour.

When he made Gerard count backwards from ninety-nine, the female cop interrupted him, “Enough. That’s sufficient.”

Chagrined, the man bitched about how he was just doing his job and then proceeded to question them about why they were out there in the first place.

By that point, Gerard had grown tired of the dickwad cop and whatever game he was playing. He seemed more interested in intimidating Gerard than actually doing his job. Gerard took a deep breath and laid it on thick. He explained that they were on their way to a club to see a friend’s band and he had taken the wrong exit off the highway. They had driven around, gotten lost and when they stopped to ask directions he ended up flooding the engine because of the cold. So, maybe Gerard was good at lying when pressed hard enough.

“I could charge you with public urination as well as indecent exposure—how would you like to end up on the sex offender list?” The cop looked smug as Gerard’s blood went cold. He would lose his job.

It wasn’t an act when tears pricked out of the corners of his eyes and he started to cry. “Please, please don’t do that. It was stupid—I was desperate and there wasn’t anyone around.” He looked to the friendlier cop. “I swear, I’ll never do anything like that again. I’m a teacher. I’ll lose my job.” Swiping furiously at his tears, he pleaded with her again.

She sighed and gave the other cop a look. “Anything come up on his ID?”

“No. But it could be a counterfeit.” 

“Do you think it’s a counterfeit?”

“No.” He glared at Gerard.

“Why don’t you go wait in the cruiser while I have a chat with these boys?” It wasn’t a question. 

The cranky cop huffed and put his hands on his hips. They had some sort of a stare-off and for reasons unknown, she won. The male cop complied and trudged back to their car where he pointedly climbed into the driver’s seat.

The nice cop turned to Gerard. “Where do you work?”

“I teach at the arts high school over in Essex County.”

“And you two?” She asked. “What do you do?”

“I’m a photographer, ma’am.” Mikey motioned at Brendon before he could reply. “And he’s a student at Rutgers. Music.”

“Where do you all live?”

Gerard quickly replied, “Forest Hill.” _And the nicer side of town_ went unsaid. “We all live together. My grandma died a few months ago and she left me her house.”

That fucking did it.

She let out a long sigh and then handed Gerard his wallet and told them to get home safe. The second she strode away Gerard nearly collapsed, crippled by relief. All three of them hurried into Gerard’s car. Once the cruiser had disappeared down the street, Gerard put his head down on the steering wheel.

“Fuck,” Mikey said flatly. “Gee, are you okay to drive?”

Gerard nodded. He took a steadying breath before he raised his head and started the engine. Brendon sat eerily still and silent beside him and he didn’t ask how Gerard knew where his car was parked when they pulled up beside it.

“Is it okay if Mikey drives your car home?”

Brendon nodded blankly as he handed the keys over. The brothers shared a look and Gerard stayed in park until Mikey had safely started down the road. 

In the short time it took them to drive home, Brendon fell asleep against the window, fogging it up. Gerard parked behind Mikey and gently woke Brendon. They both waited as Brendon retrieved a knapsack from the trunk of his car. They entered through the side door, careless of the snow they were tracking in as they shed their coats and boots in the kitchen. 

Gerard poured them all tall glasses of water like that would wash away the shitty evening they’d had. He loathed the silence in the room but was too spent to speak. They sat around the kitchen table, Gerard and Mikey exchanging worried looks while Brendon kept his head low, eyes glued to the dining room table. 

“You gonna lecture me now?” Brendon asked.

“Not tonight,” Gerard said, voice void of emotion. “Tomorrow, probably. Why don’t you clean up and get into bed? You must be exhausted.”

Brendon nodded, cautiously catching Gerard’s eyes as he stood. Gerard touched his arm and promised him that everything would be okay.

While Mikey made up the bed in the guest room, Gerard scooped up Brendon’s bag and escorted him upstairs, herding him into the bathroom. His clothes smelled like they hadn’t been washed in ages, so he found some sweatpants and a t-shirt for him to sleep in.

Once he heard the shower going, he slumped down to the floor to wait. He picked at the carpet fibres. The beige carpeting was old and worn. In dire need of a vacuum. Maybe he should get rid of it altogether. He sighed and started chewing at his nails. When Mikey saw him curled up there frowning at the floor, he slid down the wall beside him and pressed into his shoulder.

“You don’t have much time to get ready.”

“Ugh. I feel awful. I need a shower first.” Gerard leaned into Mikey’s warmth. “Are you going out?”

“Just over to Vickie’s. She wasn’t in the mood for a party. I think she’s still mad I won’t move in with her.”

Gerard picked at his cuticles. “I should stay home. I don’t want to leave him here alone.”

“Gee, he passed out in the car. I’ll give him an Ambien and he’ll be out all night.”

“Mikey,” Gerard scolded. He shuddered to think about what other pharmaceuticals Mikey had stashed away in his bedroom and hoped they were well hidden.

“Well, I haven’t got any weed, so that’ll have to do.”

Brendon emerged from the bathroom still looking like hell. The shock of the night had flattened him like a steamroller. There were no tears but he held himself limply, his expression all pale-faced regret. He stammered out an apology. Gerard clambered up from the floor and hugged him hard, refusing to let go.

Eventually, Brendon sagged against him and let himself be embraced. “You know you’re fucking lucky, right?” Gerard said. Brandon nodded. When Gerard released him, he held him at an arm’s length. “Please don’t disappear like that again.” Brendon shook his head but didn’t look completely sure of himself. “I’m serious. Get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.”

Mikey appeared with some pills and a glass of water, handing them over like a peace offering. Brendon popped the Ambien and downed the entire glass of water and Gerard made a big deal out of pulling back the blankets and tucking Brendon into bed. Mikey said good-night like everything was normal and Gerard gave in to the urge to kiss Brendon on the forehead.

Brendon stared at them like they were nuts. “Okay, I get it. Stop acting like my two gay dads and go party.” His voice cracked, sounding worn and weary despite the joke. Gerard snorted and said good-night as he turned out the lights.

Mikey left and Gerard took a well-deserved shower. The cold had settled into his bones. He stood under the steaming spray of hot water for a long time. What a shitty fucking night.

The instant he shut off the water he started shivering again. He bundled up in a towel and wiped the condensation from the mirror. The last thing he wanted to look at was his own sorry face. He carefully avoided his reflection as he dried his hair. That wouldn’t do if wanted to put on eyeliner. He grabbed a kohl pencil. When he leaned in to line his eyes, his hand trembled. Bad idea. He’d end up looking more of a disaster. He tried again but he was shaking too hard.

A wave of emotion hit him in the chest. He was fucking exhausted. Drained of all energy and motivation. He didn’t care about New Year’s or Frank’s show and shuddered at the idea of leaving the house. He started to cry. He clamped a hand over his face to keep it contained but it was no use. In nothing but a towel, he sat on the bathroom floor and bawled his eyes out.

*

The phone shrilled like it was sounding an alarm. Gerard bolted up in bed, looking at the clock with wild eyes. It was one twenty-five in the morning. Something in Gerard’s chest clenched tight as he snatched the phone from the bedside table.

“Frank,” Gerard said breathlessly.

“Where are you? Is everything okay?” It was hard to hear Frank through the noise of the bar, drunk people cheering and celebrating. Fuck. He’d fallen asleep.

“Oh my god, Frank, I’m so, so sorry.” He flicked a light on. “A bunch of crazy shit happened. Mikey and I found Brendon.”

“And that took all night?” He sounded flat but it was enough to hear his voice.

“I fell asleep.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I had a shitty night,” Gerard said quietly. “I’m so sorry I missed your show. I bet you guys were amazing.” When Frank didn’t reply, Gerard held his breath and in a pinched voice said, “Frank, I wanted to be there.”

“I’ve been calling you for hours. Where’s your cell phone?”

“Fuck, I don’t even know.” Gerard rubbed a hand through his hair.

“It’s frigging New Year’s, Gerard.” Frank was angry. It bore a sick hole in Gerard’s stomach. “You couldn’t put all your other shit aside? For one night?”

“I know. I know,” Gerard slumped back. “It’s a long story.”

“This was important to me.”

“I know,” Gerard said in a tiny voice. “I’m sorry.”

“You know what?” Frank sighed heavily. “I don’t even care right now.”

“Frank, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.” Gerard shrunk further, bowing his head into his hand and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I waited for you all night. Told everyone about my awesome boyfriend and then you didn’t even show up. Frigging midnight and everyone’s happy and kissing each other and I’m standing here like an idiot, sober and alone.”

Gerard bristled at the tone. “Frank.” Frank grunted an annoyed noise and Gerard backtracked. “Frank, come over now. It’s not that late. We can talk.”

“No thanks. I’m gonna go hang out with my friends. I’d rather get trashed with them than look at your face right now.”

Tears welled up in Gerard’s eyes. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Whatever.” Frank hung up abruptly. 

Gerard burrowed under the covers and cried himself to sleep for the second time that night.


	17. Roadkill

The next morning, Gerard woke up with puffy eyes and a dry throat. The first day of the New Year and he was in bed alone. Not at all how he’d planned it. Frank was upset and Gerard couldn’t help but shoulder the blame. Him and his fucking fragile emotions and inability to deal with shit. He could have sucked it up last night and gone out. Checked his fucking cell phone or at least tried to let Frank know what was going on. He felt terrible and figured Frank deserved to be mad at him, at least a little. He hoped his behaviour was forgivable.

Instead of feeling sorry for himself—because that would only lead to burrowing under his blankets for the day—he crawled out of bed. He had intended to make a nice breakfast to start the New Year and even though Frank wasn’t there to enjoy it, he wasn’t about to change those plans now.

But, first things first: coffee. As it was brewing, he found his cell phone buried beneath a stack of mail and cursed himself. The battery was dead. Guiltily, he plugged it into the wall and deleted the messages. He didn’t need to listen to them to know how unhappy Frank had been last night. He drank an entire cup while slouched against the counter, replaying Frank’s hurtful words over and over in his head.

With a heavy sigh, he refilled his mug, wiped the sleep from his eyes and started pulling out the ingredients for pancakes. He was now a pro at making the vegan version. He’d even bought real maple syrup and gone all out with fancy fake sausages, rich soy creamer for the coffee, and a carton of fresh strawberries.

The sausages were sizzling on the stovetop when Mikey wandered in. He snagged a strawberry and bit it in half. “Where’s Frank?” Gerard must have looked like shit because Mikey’s face went slack the moment their eyes met.

He clenched his teeth and carefully spooned out the batter for the last of the pancakes. “Where’s Vickie?” He asked instead of answering.

“She had to work this morning so I came home a while ago. I figured I should be here when you talk to Brendon. Apologize to him.” Mikey poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter. “Hey.” He poked at Gerard’s shoulder. “Why isn’t Frank here?”

Gerard turned away as his eyes welled up. “I didn’t make it out last night. I fell asleep.” He poked at the sausages, rolling them over so they wouldn’t burn. Mikey hovered over his shoulder, pressing him to continue. “Frank called like, way after midnight. He’s so pissed at me right now.”

“Did you tell him what happened?”

“No. He hung up on me before I could tell him anything.” 

“Sorry—that sucks.” Mikey nudged Gerard’s shoulder. “He’s gonna regret it when he finds out he missed out on this.” Mikey motioned at all the food and Gerard gave him a flat look. “What? He’ll get over it. I bet he’s slept it off already.”

“I wouldn’t blame him if he dumped me,” Gerard said morosely.

“He’s not going to dump you.”

Gerard turned the burners off and carried the stacked plate of pancakes to the table. Brendon came in looking a shade better than he had the night before. He stopped, mouth agape when he saw all the food on the table. 

“Happy New Year,” Gerard said without feeling. He gestured at the table and they all sat down.

They ate slowly to draw out the inevitable discussion. Brendon packed away double the amount of food as Gerard and Mikey combined. Anxious to fill the silence, Gerard started telling them about the phone call he’d had with the owner of the Sutton Gallery. They were still quite keen to show his grandmother’s art. He’d only had a change of heart because the owner himself had called and promised that Gerard would have control over sales. This time Gerard would meet with Michael Sutton’s eldest daughter, who, he noted, was very professional. Gerard continued to run his mouth off while Mikey and Brendon listened and nodded appropriately. Eventually, he and Mikey got into their own mundane family Christmas. The conversation purposefully stayed off the topic of last night.

When their plates had been cleared, Gerard poured his third cup of coffee. Brendon played with his napkin, ripping bits off and rolling them into balls. He took a deep breath and flicked his eyes at both of them and then back to his lacerated napkin. “I suppose you want to know what I was doing out there last night.”

Mikey and Gerard exchanged looks as Gerard sat down with his coffee. “I think we both know what you were doing,” Gerard said slowly. “I guess I want to know why? Do you realize how dangerous that is? You don’t know who those guys are—you could have been picked up by anyone!” Mikey tapped Gerard’s arm to calm him. Gerard huffed out a quick breath. “Brendon, it’s not safe out there.”

“I didn’t let anyone fuck me without a condom if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No!—I mean yeah, well, now I’m worried about that!” A strangled noise escaped him as he flapped his hands around in frustration. “There are terrible people out there. You could have been hurt or arrested or even fucking murdered!”

“How did you find me?”

“Gerard was worried about you. He went all Columbo and got a lead. I called some people, and well, once we found out what you were doing it wasn’t hard to figure out where.”

“The address that you gave me—that you gave the college—you don’t live there, do you?”

“Nope.” Brendon shook his head. “I don’t live anywhere.”

“What d’you mean? What about your roommates?”

“I lied about the roommates. I live in my car.”

“You live in your car?” Gerard’s voice pitched higher. A lot of things suddenly made sense. Guilt settled in the pit of Gerard’s stomach as he remembered the illusive roommates and finding Brendon asleep in his car. “Oh, fuck—you sleep there. That morning in the school parking lot—you slept there that night.”

“Yeah. That was an accident though. I usually park somewhere out of the way and sleep in the backseat. Occasionally, I’ll splurge on a motel room.” Brendon took in their shocked faces. “Hence the work on the street?”

Gerard slapped a hand over his face and sighed heavily. Then he looked up at Brendon. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry? Why didn’t you say anything? I know I’m annoying but it’s only because I want to help.”

“Are you kidding? I’m seventeen. If anyone found out I’d get pulled out of school and shipped back to Vegas. I’m happier here than I ever was at home. I’d rather pull tricks and sleep in my car than go back there.”

Not for the first time, Gerard was struck with gratitude for his family. Brendon didn’t deserve any of the shit that had happened to him. 

Gerard sighed and chewed on a nail. “I went to that house, you know. To see if you were there.”

“This guy I know—his girlfriend lives there. I crashed on the couch a few times. I had to give the school an address.”

“That blond guy who was harassing you the day we met?” 

“Um, yeah.” Brendon nodded and furrowed his brow. “How did you know?”

“I kind of staked out the house, saw him leaving and talked to him. He said you sold him drugs. That you were a drug dealer.”

Brendon snorted. “I wish. Better money than cock-sucking, that’s for sure. I gave him weed a few times in exchange for crashing on his couch. And sometimes he pays me to like, get him off—on weekends when his girlfriend and her roommate are away. That’s how I got the idea to hustle for money.”

Gerard’s coffee was gone and his insides were twisting around at how casual Brendon sounded. He was so young and Gerard realized that there was no way in hell he was letting Brendon leave again.

“You can move in with us,” Gerard said without thinking. “If you want to. Please.”

Brendon tapped on the table and tore off more bits of his napkin. “I’m seriously broke. I can’t afford much for rent.”

Gerard shook his head. “No rent. You know we have an extra room and we want to help.”

Brendon gave Mikey a guarded look. “I agree with him”—Mikey motioned at Gerard—“I’m cool if you want to stay with us. I know I was an asshole about it before but I think I get it now. I promise I’ll be nice if you promise to keep your drugs away from my brother.”

Brendon put his hands up. “I smoke weed, that’s it.”

Gerard rubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. “There’s gonna be rules though.” Brendon’s face fell flat. “I’m sorry but if you’re going to live here we have to set some boundaries. I know you can take care of yourself but you’re still a minor.”

“Like what kinda rules?” Brendon asked quietly.

“For starters, no more hooking, no more assholes who use you and no more sleeping in your car,” Gerard enthused.

Brendon peeled another strip from his crumpled napkin and gave it a hard look. “What do you want in return?”

“Study hard and finish school. Be happy. Do something worthwhile with your life? You can stay as long as you like.”

“That’s it? Stay in school in exchange for a roof over my head? There’s gotta be a catch?”

“No catch. It’d be nice if you’d help around the house, but yeah, that’s it. No strings.” Gerard thought for a moment. “I’m not gonna lie. I worry a lot and I’m not going to stop trying to take care of you. I doubt Mikey is either.” Mikey shrugged in agreement. “In that respect, you’re probably signing up for that parenting you never asked for. But I will listen if you think I’m going overboard.”

Brendon chewed on his lip and squished the remains of his napkin into a ball. “I only said that stuff about us not being friends and you acting like my parents to get you off my back. I was scared you were going to figure out what was going on and call my actual parents or something. I don’t mind—it’s kind of nice,” Brendon shrugged. “At least someone gives a shit about what happens to me.”

“Oh, shit.” Gerard pushed his chair out from the table. “Can I hug you?”

When Brendon nodded he was on the verge of tears and Gerard squeezed him tight. “I hope we can still be friends. I’m not ready to be a dad.” Brendon let out a wet laugh and nodded again.

After tidying the kitchen, the three of them spent the day lounging around. Gerard felt completely wrung out like he’d been left out in the cold rain until sopping wet, been dragged around the yard a few times only to be squeezed dry to the point that he couldn’t breathe. He had a headache and probably shouldn’t have drunk that fourth cup of coffee. The other two didn’t look much better. 

Mikey invited Brendon to play some video games in the living room so Gerard camped out in the armchair and tried not to brood. He doodled in his sketchbook with his fully charged cell phone at arm’s reach. Frank never called.

After a few hours, they got too tired to even do that and put movies on. The credits rolled on ‘The Little Mermaid’ and Gerard flicked on a lamp to fill the darkness. Brendon had a serious pout going on—face pinched together, desperately holding onto a frown. Gerard tapped him with his toe to get his attention and then waited patiently for him to work out whatever was going on in his head.

Finally, in a mournful voice, Brendon said, “I realize how much I have in common with this movie and I kind of want to punch Walt Disney in the face.”

Gerard bit back a laugh. “I’m sorry to say, he was long gone before the movie was made.”

“Still—his franchise, his fault.” Brendon sighed. “I haven’t seen this movie since I left home and I think it brainwashed me into believing in a happy ending.”

“There’s no such thing,” Gerard said bitterly. Ah, fuck. Brendon’s eyes got all big and watery. He reached out to squeeze Brendon’s arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re still young. You’ve got plenty of time for a happy ending. There are plenty of fish out there for you to fall in love with yet.”

“You wanna know why I moved here? Like really and truly?” Brendon sat up and crossed his legs, his expression hardening. “Not to get away from my parents. And not just for school—I could have gone somewhere else, anywhere with a decent music program. No, I was in love and when he wanted to move to New York, I followed him.”

“I met this guy online. I used to sneak out and use the computers at the library to fish for dates. He was a couple of years older than me and he wasn’t that attractive but he was funny and a good listener.” 

“He’d been working for his father, which he hated, and was desperate to move to New York. I only applied to schools in the area—I would have sold a kidney to attend Juilliard but they didn’t want me. I couldn’t afford any of the best and then Rutgers offered me a scholarship. It only covers tuition, but it’s enough. The day I got accepted was the last time my parents spoke to me. When I told them I was moving here with him they weren’t even surprised. They told me to go and never come back.”

“His family were loaded—old-money rich. But they wanted him to work for it. His uncle got him a job at Goldman Sachs in Manhattan and by July we had moved into a cheap apartment near Feaster Park.” Gerard’s eyebrows went up. “I know, not the safest area. But it was all we could afford and I needed to be near the school. He didn’t like it either. He was pissed his parents wouldn’t pay for a place in the city. That he had to take the train to work every day. That he was so low on the totem pole he had to fetch the office lunch. He had always been generous with his money and I think losing access broke him a little.” 

“In hindsight, he was behaving like a spoiled brat. He took it out on me by staying out late and eventually not coming home at all. He wouldn’t talk to me about it. Instead, he went drinking with his fellow suits every night. Then he met this Wall Street hotshot. Older, more mature, he said. Came from a good background, he said. He had a condo in the financial district and asked him to move in. How the fuck could I compete with that? Disowned, broke and not even old enough to drink.”

Brendon slumped back and looked at his hands. “When he left, I couldn’t afford rent on my own so I lost the apartment. Thank fuck I had my car. I figured I’d sleep in it for a while, find a shitty job and save enough money for a place before school started. I dunno what happened—I ended up going in circles. Months went by and I never had enough for rent no matter how much I tried to save. School is so much work. I’m tired all the time and shitty jobs barely cover books and food. If it weren’t for my scholarship covering tuition, I’d have to drop out. And then what? Move back to Vegas? I can’t move home again. I called my parents a few times afterwards thinking maybe they’d have a change of heart but my mom hung up on me and my dad told me that I’d made my decision and that I was no longer their son.” 

“Hey,” Gerard said. Brendon met his eyes. “I’m sorry you ended up with shitty parents. You don’t deserve any of that. I’m amazed at how strong you are. You should be proud of yourself and who you are. I’m here for you, whatever you need. You really are welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

Fuck. How was he going to break it to his mom that she suddenly had a teenage grandson?

*

Later that afternoon, Gerard put on a pot of coffee and Frank invaded his thoughts. The coffee grinder had been a clever gift. Ensured that Frank would be on his mind every time he made coffee. Sneaky bugger. He was desperate to talk to him. Make up.

He grabbed the cordless and punched in the numbers slowly. Frank’s mom answered. When she explained that Frank had spent the night at his girlfriend’s house, Gerard nearly dropped the phone. He stammered out, “Tell him Gerard called,” and hung up. Brendon found him sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.

Brendon helped him up off the floor and into a chair. Then he got Gerard a glass of water and sat with him at the table as he drank it.

Eventually, Gerard said, “Frank didn’t go home last night.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“His mom said he got drunk and spent the night at some girl’s house.”

“I doubt that. You really think he’d tell his mom about a drunken hook-up?”

“No, but… what if he wants to dump me?”

“Oh my God—stop saying that,” Brendon said calmly. He had a point—that had maybe been Gerard’s motto all day. “He’s not going to dump you.”

“He was pretty mad last night.”

“You don’t seriously believe he’s breaking up with you? C’mon Gerard, he’s crazy about you. He wrote you all those silly postcards and came to watch ‘The Sandbox’. He wouldn’t dump you over one bad night. Is this your first fight?”

“First, last—whatever. Do you know how much easier his life would be if he was dating a girl? Sometimes I think I’m just waiting for him to realize that. Maybe he realized it last night. If it’s inevitable I’d rather it happen sooner than later.”

Brendon sighed and tapped his fingers on the table. “Have you told him all that?” Gerard shook his head and Brendon continued, “If he wanted someone else don’t you think he’d have moved on already? And if he didn’t care about you he wouldn’t have been so upset when you didn’t show up to see his band. By his reaction, he seems to care a whole lot.”

“Is it terrible that I hope he has the worst hangover ever?”

Brendon barked out a laugh. “That’s fair. You’re suffering. Why shouldn’t he be just as miserable?”

Gerard finished his water and sighed. “You’re right. I don’t wanna spend the rest of the day moping around.” He stood and stretched. “Let’s go shopping.”

“It’s New Year’s, dude. Nothing is open.”

“Walmart is always open.”

“What do you need at Walmart?”

“I need to get out of the house and _you_ need new toiletries and shit. Maybe some clothes without holes in them.”

“No way. You do not need to buy me stuff.”

“Seriously, Brendon. A cart full of necessities isn’t going to break my bank account.” Brendon shook his head and didn’t agree until Gerard added, “Let me. I could use the distraction, otherwise, I’m gonna sit here and stare at the phone until Frank calls.”

*

All the New Year’s drama had him teetering on the edge. Coping with work was a chore but he had to do it. He couldn’t get away with calling in sick for days on end. And while he yearned to give up and spend the rest of his life in bed, he knew it was a terrible idea.

He did his best not to mope around at school. It sapped every last bit of his energy but it wouldn’t do to take his despair out on his students. They were all new anyway. New term, new classes, new students. They didn’t question his fake smiles and forced laughter like some of his previous students might have.

This term he was teaching an extra beginners art class and had traded his freshman drama for juniors. They were serious about the craft and not goofy like his previous group. And the art students didn’t take the class seriously enough. They had signed up assuming it would be an easy credit, which Gerard took as a challenge and already they seemed to hate him for it. The entire period was nothing but distracted chattering and the glazed-over look of kids waiting for the bell. When he told them to get their sketchbooks out there were simultaneous heavy sighs throughout the room.

Monday night, Gerard rushed home to check the answering machine. His heart raced when he saw there was a message but it was just a telemarketer. Frank hadn’t called his cell all day, either. He waited until later that evening—when Frank couldn’t possibly be at work—to try calling him again.

He sat on his bed and stared at the phone for an hour before he made the call. Was Frank purposefully ignoring him? Maybe Frank really was trying to dump him. Maybe he shouldn’t call; Frank couldn’t break up with him if Gerard didn’t talk to him. His logic was stupid but he was fucking sad and depressed and was having trouble processing the heartache of it all.

No. He was being silly. The only way to sort this out would be to actually talk. The thought that it might be the last time Frank spoke to him, though, made it harder to dial. But no one picked up. Gerard hung up without leaving a message and immediately called back in case Frank was racing to the phone. Still no answer. He hesitated and then left a short message, trying not to sound too desperate.

Frank wanted to break up with him. He knew it.

Okay, he didn’t know it but it sure as hell felt like it. At some point during the week, when Frank still hadn’t called and Gerard had given up leaving messages, his sadness started morphing into anger. Maybe Gerard didn’t deserve to be forgiven but Frank could at least give him a chance to explain himself. And yeah, he’d beg for forgiveness if he had to. Frank refusing to talk to him was just prolonging the torment of not knowing.

At home Gerard didn’t hide it; Mikey allowed him his dark mood and Brendon hid in his room. The house grew tense and weird as they adjusted to the new living arrangements. One night, Gerard found Brendon perched on a stool, dusting the corner of the kitchen like some housekeeper gone mad. Gerard coaxed him down with a sandwich and reassured him that Gerard’s mood had everything to do with Frank and nothing to do with him living there. Gerard was careful around him after that.

*

Thursday night was busy enough that he didn’t have time to brood. There was a GSA meeting right after school. More kids than ever had attended that week. Their interest was heartening but he knew that as the numbers increased, school policy dictated a second teacher would be required to attend meetings. No one was willing last term so he’d be hard-pressed if he needed to find someone now. It was upsetting. The principal had pointed that out last semester when their numbers had started growing. The group was important—he didn’t want to limit their members nor did he want to see the group shut down. 

He was stressed when he got home. The woman from the Sutton Gallery was due in less than an hour so he skipped dinner to ensure everything was ready. When she showed up, Gerard's initial reaction was that he'd made a mistake. She dressed like a lawyer: all-business in a colourless pantsuit with her blonde hair pulled back in a smooth, tight bun. Sensible shoes. She introduced herself as Elizabeth Sutton and shook his hand with a firm grip. Gerard broke out in a sweat. He fucking hated lawyers and the like.

Then she started babbling. She apologized for her sister's abhorrent behaviour. The two sisters co-ran the gallery with their father, but Abby was lazy. She did little work but reaped the benefits. Their father wanted her to be more proactive, so he had insisted Abby take the meeting with Gerard. Elizabeth wasn't surprised that Abby had offended him. But if she didn’t fail on her own, then she'd never learn the business and Elizabeth didn't want to run the gallery on her own. She wanted a business partner, not a wayward liability.

“I love my sister, but she drives me crazy.” She stopped abruptly. “Oh my gosh.” She put a hand to her chest. “I’m sorry—you probably didn’t need to know all that. Sometimes my mouth gets away from me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been accused of that myself.” Gerard smiled and motioned towards the living room. 

“Holy mackerel.” She stopped in the doorway. He’d lugged all the painting downstairs and once again, they were crowding the room. She slipped on a pair of simple, round-framed glasses and asked him where he wanted to start. Together, they sifted through the stacks. The coloured stickers returned but this time, she let Gerard stick them on and she asked questions about the pieces as they went along. She was either a good bullshitter or genuinely interested in the art.

They were three-quarters of the way through when Gerard suggested a coffee break. As it brewed, Elizabeth told him about the first time she had met his grandmother at the gallery. She thought his grandmother was cool because of her lavender-tinted hair and the way she lovingly called her grandson a ‘little shit’ for riding his bike into her flower bed. Right through her newly-planted Begonias. Gerard guffawed—Mikey had been the culprit. As punishment, he’d been sentenced to be her garden slave (Mikey’s words, not Grams) for the remainder of the summer.

They took their coffees into the living room to survey their efforts.

"My dad was serious when he said you could call the shots," Elizabeth said. "He’ll do this show even if you don't want to sell a single thing. He has a real soft spot for your grandmother. He adores her work.”

Gerard gestured at the paintings. "I know I can't keep them all. They need to be shared with people who appreciate them. Spread the joy." He looked around again, considering. “I’m pretty confident about what I want to keep.” 

“Abby told me you were working on some of her unfinished pieces?”

“I bet those weren’t the words she used— _working on_.”

Elizabeth gave him a sheepish smile. “Butchered, were her words. But I am quite curious. I’d love to see them.”

Without thinking too hard about it, Gerard led her up to the attic. No one outside of friends and family had seen the paintings yet, so Gerard’s stomach was in knots. He offered her a stool and he motioned at the painting he had been working on. It was a gathering of people dressed in their finest clothing. They danced around a pile of severed body parts. Gerard was in the process of detailing the grotesque expressions on their faces and adding skeletons to the crowd.

"This is interesting.” She removed her glasses and leaned in for a closer look.

Gerard laughed nervously. "Is that a nice way of saying it's terrible?"

"No, no, not at all!" She said lightly. “Can I see the rest of them?”

One by one he showed her each piece and they discussed back and forth. Elizabeth asked some pretty good questions and Gerard was more determined than ever to finish them.

“Your style is very different but it works well. What prompted you to complete them?”

"It made me sad to see them sitting around with the thought that they’d never be finished. And then I just got all these ideas.” He flapped a hand at his head.

“So, you’re a painter too?”

“Um. Not like her. I’m not a real artist or anything.” He picked at invisible flecks of paint on his jeans. “I’m experimenting. I've learned even more about her by doing it. It's also helped me deal with her being gone.”

She slid her glasses on. “Can we put these in the show?”

“You think people would want to see them?”

“Oh, definitely. I bet we could sell a couple if you’re interested?”

"Seriously?"

"Sure, why not?" 

“I’ve never sold any art before."

"Well, my friend, there's a first time for everything." She patted Gerard on the shoulder and gave him a cheery smile. "How long until you finish the rest of them? I don't think we're looking at a show until May.”

Gerard nodded rapidly, in a state of disbelief. "That’s totally do-able." 

*

The notion of his art in a real gallery boosted his mood. His heart still ached when he thought about Frank but after seeing Brian that morning he was feeling a bit more rational about it. When he got home from school on Friday, he felt a bit better. Stronger. Like if Frank broke up with him, he’d manage. It would suck but he could cope. He went into the kitchen for the phone and Frank was standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

The question, ‘are you here to dump me?’ slipped to the tip of Gerard’s tongue. Before it could slide out, Frank threw his hands up in the air. “You almost got arrested?” Frank sounded furious. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Who told you?” Gerard chewed on his lip. “Mikey or Brendon?”

“Both. They came at me at work.”

He gave Gerard a long look before he tackled him in a hug, the force of which nearly toppled them over. There was a deep frown on Frank’s face but he wasn’t angry. He took Gerard’s stunned face in his hands and kissed him hard. Gerard fell into it for a moment and then his own anger ebbed in and he had to push Frank away.

“What the actual fuck, Frank?”

“What?” Frank looked shocked.

“You yelled me and then you hung up on me.” Gerard added, “On New Year’s?”

“I was mad. It was just a stupid fight.” He leaned into Gerard’s space and kissed him again.

“You’ve been ignoring me all week!” Gerard complained into Frank’s mouth.

“I haven’t been ignoring you—it’s only been a couple of days. C’mon, baby.”

Gerard pulled away with a frown. “Don’t _baby_ me. It’s been six days and I’ve been leaving you messages all week. The least you could’ve done is call me back.”

Frank sighed. “I was sick. I couldn’t have told you my name let alone what day of the week it was.” 

“That’s a shitty excuse,” Gerard said. “You could have at least called me the next day. You said some pretty awful things to me.”

“I know—I’m sorry.” Frank grabbed Gerard’s hands and interlaced them. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think you’d still be upset about it.”

“I thought you were going to dump me.”

“I’m not gonna dump you!” Frank kissed him to make his point. “Gee, I know it sounds bad but I was so hungover I was barely conscious the next day.” Between more kisses, Frank said, “Completely incapacitated. I must have caught a bug or something because I was sick as a dog all week—you can ask my mom.”

Gerard bristled. “I talked to your mom. She said you slept at your girlfriend’s house on New Year’s.”

Frank stopped mid-kiss and barked out a laugh. “I stayed at Hambone’s on New Year’s. I promise you—there’s no girl.”

Gerard’s raised an eyebrow, still unimpressed. “Then why does your mom think you have a girlfriend?”

Frank rolled his eyes and went through a series of expressions before guilt settled on his face. “I talked about you at Christmas. A lot. Too much, in fact. My family’s not stupid—everyone figured out that I’m dating someone.”

“And you told them I was a girl,” Gerard said flatly.

“No. I was careful with pronouns and they made assumptions.”

“That I’m a girl.”

Frank huffed. “They assumed that, yeah.”

“Frank, I don’t like lying.”

“It’s not like you ever have to meet my mom. She’ll never know.” Gerard frowned and stepped out of Frank’s embrace to fold his arms across his chest. Frank continued, “C’mon, you know I can’t tell her about us—she’d disown me and I’d be homeless.”

“You wouldn’t be homeless.”

“Right, I forgot,” Frank said. “Taking in strays is your new hobby.”

Gerard shook his head in confusion. “You’re upset because I let Brendon move in?”

“No.” Frank huffed and crossed his arms to mirror Gerard. “I came over here to make up. I don’t even know why we’re arguing when all I want to do is hug the shit out of you.” Frank frowned and then added, “It’s been a long week. I miss you. Asshole.”

Frank’s pout was ridiculous. The corner of Gerard’s mouth quirked up. “I missed you too.” He gave in and wrapped his arms around Frank, trapping him there and kissing him stupid. 

Frank tried to reach Gerard’s tonsils with his tongue. When he attempted to free his arms, Gerard squeezed tighter, cackling into Frank’s mouth. Frank got Gerard’s lower lip between his teeth and tugged. Close to his ear, Frank said, “Let’s have make-up sex.”

“Gross. Not in the kitchen.” Neither of them had noticed Brendon in the dining room. “At least not on the table. I’ve got homework to do.” He dumped a pile of textbooks on the table and gave them a pointed look.

They retreated to Gerard’s bedroom and stripped with practiced speed before sliding between the sheets. It was all very desperate: one minute they were rutting against each other, naked and slick, and the next, Gerard was coming into Frank’s hand, writhing under him with Frank’s lips pressed to his neck. Gerard jerked Frank’s dick and he soon followed, gasping in surprise. 

There was a short debate about who should get up to retrieve a washcloth. Gerard won by reminding Frank that _apparently_ , he was the girl in the relationship. Frank told him he was being sexist but he got up anyway and insisted on wiping Gerard down himself.

It had only been a week but it felt longer than that. Gerard couldn’t believe how much he’d missed Frank and he didn’t want to think about what was going to happen when the band left for tour. Frank would be gone for more than a month and Gerard wasn’t sure his heart could handle the separation.

He let Frank ramble about the New Year’s show as he traced the fine lines on Frank’s chest. It sounded like Gerard had missed a great night. Then Frank’s voice got quiet and he again apologized for shouting at Gerard as he did.

“I over-reacted, I know. The show had me stressed out and the guys were all goofing off. I thought you didn’t want to come and be around a bunch of drunk people at a bar and were making excuses because you didn’t want to tell me the truth.”

“That’s a whole lot of assumptions.” Gerard propped his chin up on Frank’s sternum so he could look him in the eye. “I wanted to see you play. If the drinking was a problem I’d tell you and not make up some lame excuse to stand you up. I wouldn’t do that. Not ever.”

“I know. I know that now.” Frank brushed his fingers through Gerard’s hair. 

“And if you’re stressed out about something, tell me. Don’t shut me out like that.”

“I’m sorry. I know I was a jerk and I should have let you explain.” Frank traced Gerard’s cheekbone with his thumb, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Did you really think I went home with a girl on New Year’s?”

“Maybe,” Gerard admitted. “Don’t you think it would be easier if you were dating a girl instead of me?”

“I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

“But wouldn’t it be easier? Especially with your mom?”

Frank snorted. “Well, she’d be happy if I went to church and got a business degree but I’m not doing that shit either.”

“Point taken.”

“I can’t believe you got stopped by the cops. Brendon said it was pretty intense.”

“How much did they tell you?”

“Mostly Mikey yelled at me for upsetting you. Brendon said you rescued him from a life of prostitution?” 

“I wish he was kidding. If he even thinks about selling himself for cash again, I swear to god I’ll lock him in his bedroom until he’s forty.”

“Did you cry? I thought Brendon was laying it on thick because he felt guilty.”

Gerard snorted. “Have you met me? At least it worked to my benefit. The woman felt sorry for me and the man got disgusted and gave up.”

Frank pressed a kiss to Gerard’s temple. “You’re a good person.”

“Tell that to the cops the next time I end up handcuffed with a gun pointed at my back.” Gerard winced—the memory was still fresh. “I had a panic attack over the hood of a cruiser.”

“Shit.” Frank ran his hand down Gerard’s naked back. “Pissing in public—you know that’s bullshit, right? I can’t tell you how many alleys and highways I’ve taken a piss on. I have the bladder of a squirrel. I don’t know how you get yourself into these situations.”

Gerard sat up, the duvet slipping away. “Get myself into these situations? Like it’s my fault? Do you think I put out vibes that say, ‘Please, harass me. I want to be scarred for life.’? You think I want that?” Frank reached out but Gerard swatted his hand away and snapped, “Don’t touch me.”

“Calm down. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” As Frank shifted upright, Gerard yanked the duvet up to his chin and stared at the mattress. “You’re too sensitive.”

“I’m too sensitive?” Gerard’s voice pitched higher and he shot Frank a look of disbelief.

“No, no. Fuck. That came out wrong.” Gerard looked away and Frank continued. “Of course, it’s not your fault. You have bad luck when it comes to assholes. And all this crap affects you more and it sucks. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

“Sometimes, I still think I deserve it.” Gerard bit his lip, refusing to meet Frank’s gaze. “And I can’t get the thought out of my head.”

“You don’t deserve it,” Frank said gently. “You were at the wrong place at the wrong time. That cop was a jerk and wanted to take it out on someone. It wasn’t personal.”

“He could have ruined my life. I was so fucking scared. I thought he was going to make an example of me.” 

“Hey.” Frank touched Gerard’s face. “He didn’t. You had a shitty experience but it’s over now—you’re safe.” With a sigh, Gerard raised Frank’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. He wished it were that easy. To let go of it.

He didn’t feel safe. Frank couldn’t magic away Gerard’s dark thoughts any more than his psychiatrist could. But he was done fighting with Frank. They shuffled back under the blankets together and Gerard tried to ignore the hesitation in his heart.


	18. Blue Glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warning: Sexual Content (tiny amount). This is also the fluffiest chapter out of the entire fic. Bit of feel good before things go south.

After they made up it was like the fight had never happened. Well, they acted as though it had never happened. Gerard thought about it a lot but didn’t want to bring it up and Frank made a point of calling him every night they didn’t spend together. Thankfully, Frank stayed over more often than not.

Gerard spent Saturday mornings running errands and grocery shopping. Mikey was rarely home to eat but Brendon was a bottomless pit of growing teenager. Left to his own devices, he’d subsist on Pop-Tarts and Ramen Noodles. But Gerard was having none of that. He had started cooking and discovered he wasn't half bad at it. He dug out Grams old crockpot and pored over her old cookbooks, adjusting recipes to accommodate Frank’s strict dietary needs. Frank ate with him when he wasn’t at work or band practice and did his share of cooking.

That particular Saturday, they had a full house. Gerard had picked up Frank on his way back from shopping and as soon as the front door closed, Mikey and Brendon called out in unison, “Hi Frank!” and then burst into giggles like preteen girls at a sleepover.

Evidently, Mikey no longer took issue with smoking pot around Gerard. Frank chuckled and helped Gerard carry the grocery bags into the living room where Mikey and Brendon were sprawled on the sofa playing Halo.

They had opposing techniques: Mikey slouched so low it was a wonder he could see the TV over his knees. His body remained motionless as his thumbs did all the work, clicking rapidly. Brendon, on the other hand, perched on the edge of the sofa, bouncing and flailing as he hammered at his controller and shouted obscenities at the television. They must have been on the same team because when Brendon cheered, Mikey offered him a high five.

“Did you get Mountain Dew?” Mikey asked eyes glued to the TV.

Brendon shot up. “Did you get strawberry Pop-Tarts?” he asked with a hopeful look.

Gerard put his hands on his hips and frowned. “Did you guys fold the towels and empty the dishwasher?” _Jesus Christ_ , he was turning into his mother.

His questions were met with silence. Mikey rolled his eyes and eventually, Brendon said, “What towels?”

Gerard motioned at the laundry basket full of clean towels sitting mere feet away from the sofa.

“You’re the one showering twice a day. There was no hot water left this morning.” Mikey narrowed his eyes at Frank and Gerard kicked Mikey in the shin. “Ow.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and to Frank, said, “He always showers for like, an hour before you come over, y’know.”

“Have you never done anal before?” Brendon said. “It can get messy if you don’t”—

“La-la-la-la-la-la!” Mikey covered his ears and Brendon tackled him into the sofa, laughing like a hyena. Gerard shook his head. At least Frank was amused. 

“So, that’s a no on the laundry and the dishes?” Gerard said flatly.

Between huffing and puffing and trying to get out from under Brendon, Mikey choked out, “Frank’s here often enough. He’ll empty the dishwasher, right Frank?”

Frank shook his head and motioned at the pair of them. “Three Men And A Baby, right here.”

“Two men and two babies,” Gerard corrected, looking pointedly between Mikey and Brendon.

“Fuck you,” Brendon said lightly as he released Mikey from a headlock. “I’m practically eighteen.” Mikey didn’t bother fixing his hair or straightening his glasses, just slouched back into the couch and started another game.

Scooping up the bags, Frank threw his head back and cackled all the way to the kitchen. Gerard waited to laugh until the door had swung shut behind him.

Frank set the groceries on the counter and said, “They’re so fucking stoned.”

“I’m just happy they’re getting along.”

Together they put away the groceries and emptied the dishwasher. Gerard rewarded Frank with a long kiss before he put coffee on. In a moment of retribution, Gerard hid both the Mountain Dew and Pop-Tarts under the sink behind the cleaning supplies. Frank grinned and wrapped himself around Gerard while they waited for the coffee to finish.

Then they retreated to the attic to get as far away from the Halo marathon and the giggly twins as possible. Gerard wanted to paint and Frank loved sprawling out on the old couch to read his crime novels in peace. At the moment, it was an Ian Rankin novel but his bag was stuffed full; every time he turned around Frank seems to have a new book in his hand. He’d even left a few on Gerard’s nightstand and Gerard did his best not to make a big deal out of it.

Although Gerard had a deadline to finish his grandmother’s paintings, he was easily distracted. He’d done some sketches of Frank with his guitar and had an image he couldn’t get out of his head. Grabbing a 6B, he drew a figure and outlined a guitar. Then he picked out his paints, selected some brushes and went to work.

Sometime later, the rough lines resembled a person. Gerard chewed on the end of his brush as the man himself touched his shoulder. Gerard startled, lowering his paintbrush. Then he leaned into it as Frank slid his hand across Gerard’s back. The piece was a mess of blobs and outlines and it was unlike anything Gerard normally did. He was experimenting. Simply put, it was a portrait, but there was bright energy behind the brush strokes and the way Frank’s head hung over his guitar.

“Wow.” Frank’s hand travelled to Gerard’s neck and squeezed. “You’re so freaking talented.”

“I should be working on those.” Gerard gestured at the stack of canvasses leaning on the wall. “But I got distracted.” He gave Frank a pointed look.

“By me? I was reading.” Frank pointed at the couch. “All the way over there.”

Gerard tilted his head to look up at Frank. The view was all neck and nostrils but somehow still attractive. “You’re always in my head.” The side of his mouth crooked up in a smile and he motioned at the work he’d done so far. “I don’t mind. It’s a good distraction.”

Frank opened his mouth to speak, but then put a hand on Gerard’s cheek and kissed him instead. His cheeks were pink when he pulled away. He rubbed his thumb across Gerard’s mouth before returning to his book. Gerard bit his lip and went back to painting, wondering if he’d said too much.

When the sky darkened and Gerard couldn’t discern navy blue paint from black, he thought maybe he was done. His eyes drifted over to the other side of the room. When he spotted Frank wearing his nerdy-ass glasses he decided he was definitely finished painting. Frank had stretched out on the couch and was nearing the end of his book, completely oblivious to being ogled.

Gerard tossed his brushes in a glass of turpentine and gave his hands a good wash in the utility sink. Then he stalked over to Frank and collapsed onto the couch at his feet. Frank poked Gerard’s stomach with his toe and flashed him a grin.

“I’m nearly finished.” Frank fanned through the last pages of his book. “A couple more minutes.” He adjusted his glasses and went back to reading.

Instead of sulking at being dismissed so readily, Gerard took it as a challenge. Slowly, he slid his hand under the cuff of Frank’s jeans. He wrapped his fingers around his ankle, massaging until Frank relaxed into the cushions. Then he made his move. He got up on all fours and climbed on top of him, settling himself on Frank’s thighs. The couch was like a sinkhole towards the back so it was a careful balance to stay upright. Frank flipped a page and quirked an eyebrow in question.

“Don’t mind me.” Gerard weaselled his fingers under Frank’s shirt and tickled his stomach. “By all means, finish reading.” Frank jerked sideways and nearly lost his book.

“C’mon, I’m almost done—I’m right at the end.” Frank put on a ridiculous pout.

Gerard smiled with teeth. “Go on then.” He thumbed at Frank’s lower lip and then tugged on his lip ring. “Pouty.” Frank snapped his teeth at him before pointedly flipping the page.

Gerard leaned back and shoved his hands back up Frank’s shirt. He ran his fingers over his ribcage and toyed with his nipples until Frank sucked in a breath. But he seemed determined to finish his book.

They were both getting hard. Gerard squeezed himself through his jeans before pressing the heel of his hand to Frank’s groin. He rubbed his thumb across the denim, over and over until Frank squirmed under the contact. He undid Frank’s pants, stuck his hand down his briefs and clamped his hand around Frank’s dick. 

Frank cursed and tossed his paperback to the floor. He seized Gerard by the shoulders and kissed him as he helplessly thrust into his hand. Gerard synchronized his strokes with the flick of his tongue into Frank’s mouth and it didn’t take long for Frank to come.

Still breathing heavily, Frank said. “ _You’re_ a fucking distraction.”

Gerard threw his head back and laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

Gerard whipped his head around to look over the back of the couch where Brendon was standing in the doorway. Thank fuck he couldn’t see Frank underneath him, all sweaty and thoroughly debauched. 

Brendon came closer and Gerard held up a hand. “Wait! Stay there.” Frank tugged his arm back down and started licking his come off of Gerard’s fingers. Gerard gave him a wanton look and let him continue.

“What are you— _oh_.” Brendon’s eyes widened as he caught on. “Gross. Don’t you have a bedroom for that?”

Frank’s head popped up to respond to Brendon. “Did you need something?” He put a hand on Gerard’s crotch and Gerard tried desperately not to react, biting the inside of his cheek until it hurt.

“Oh! We’re ordering pizza!”

“I bought groceries!” Gerard frowned.

Brendon’s face fell. “But Mikey said…”

Frank squeezed again and Gerard thrust into it. “Okay, get pizza. Fuck.” He couldn’t handle the battle between his brain and his dick. He stilled Frank’s wandering hand so he could speak coherently. “We’ll have veggie with pineapple, olives and no cheese.” Frank nodded in agreement. “Thanks, Bren.”

Brendon skedaddled and shouted, “Don’t forget—no glove, no love!” as he descended the stairs.

“How did I become a father?” Gerard complained.

“Come ‘ere and I’ll show you,” Frank said with a leer.

“Babe, I told you—it doesn’t work like that.” Gerard held Frank’s hand over his bulge and pushed into it. He whispered into Frank’s ear, “For that, I’m gonna fuck your mouth.”

Frank groaned his consent into Gerard’s neck. As Gerard sucked Frank’s earlobe into his mouth, he unzipped his fly. Frank helped him tug his jeans down to his thighs and his cock sprung out. With one hand on his dick, Gerard shuffled forward as Frank scooted down into a good position. When he tried to slip his glasses off, Gerard stopped him.

“Leave them on.”

Gerard stroked himself a few times before rubbing the head of his cock against Frank’s lips. Frank opened his mouth and curled out his tongue lick at the precome. It shot like lightning through Gerard’s groin up his spine. He groaned into it. Slid his fingers into Frank’s hair and eased the end of his cock into Frank’s mouth. The sensation was unbelievable.

“Jesus Christ, Frank, your mouth was built for cock-sucking—You’re so fucking hot—I’m gonna fuck your mouth so hard you’re gonna feel it in your balls—I’m gonna come so hard you’re gonna be tasting me for weeks.”

Frank breathed harder through his nose, his jaw slackening even more. Gerard writhed, riding out that familiar tingle that meant his body was revving itself to completion. He pulled back and shot into Frank’s mouth. Frank choked a little as Gerard jerked through it. He pulled out, heavy and sated, and slumped down on top of Frank.

They breathed together as Frank ran his fingers through Gerard’s hair.

“Am I squishing you?” Gerard said into Frank’s neck.

“No, this is cozy.”

“Cozy enough to forget about pizza?”

“Shit, no.” Frank kissed his face. “Ten more minutes and then pizza.”

Gerard laughed and let Frank cuddle him for ten more minutes.

*

Later in the week, Frank called to cancel plans with Gerard because he was sick again. Gerard would be skeptical but Frank sounded like he’d smoked a pack of Camels and swallowed a bullfrog so it was hard not to believe him.

“You sound terrible.”

“Funny, that’s what Hambone said at practice today.”

“Why were you at practice? You should be in bed.”

“No choice. We lost enough time last week. My singing’s for shit but at least we can work on playing in time with each other. Tim couldn’t keep the beat if you shoved a metronome up his ass. And that’s exactly what I’m gonna do if”—Frank broke off to cough.

“I can’t believe you’re sick again.”

Frank made a noncommittal noise. “I can’t believe you haven’t caught anything from me yet, what with all the exchanging of body fluids and getting all up in my breathing space.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Gerard said wryly. “I don’t get sick much. A cold now and then, that’s about it.”

Frank groaned and it sounded muffled like his face was pressed into his pillow. “You’re so lucky.”

Gerard cut the call short and told Frank to get some rest. Fuck. Frank hadn’t exaggerated about getting sick a lot. The band was practicing nearly every day to prepare for the tour, he was working extra shifts to make up for the money he’d lose while away, and he was spending the rest of his time with Gerard. It’s no wonder he’d worn himself down. Gerard would feel guilty but Frank usually came to him a cranky ball of tension and left with a smile on his face. He was just grateful he could make Frank feel better even if he didn’t want to talk about it.

When he hadn’t heard from Frank in a few days, he gave him a call and all but invited himself over. Frank’s mom was working the night shift all week so it was easy to convince Frank.

Gerard parked on the street and hurried up the walkway. When Frank answered the door he looked like death warmed over. He was wrapped in a comforter, teetering like he was about to fall over. But he cracked a smile for Gerard. Then he coughed. It sounded horrible like every hack was punching a hole through his lungs.

“Baby, you still sound terrible.” Gerard rubbed Frank’s back through the blanket and steered him into the living room. “Have you been able to eat? I brought you soup.” Gerard set the Tupperware on the coffee table as Frank collapsed into the sofa. 

Gerard glanced around. He’d never been inside and there was a lot to look at. The room was cluttered with knick-knacks, lacy things, mismatched pillows and _holy crap_ , Frank had not been exaggerating—crucifixes. Even on the walls, hung neatly between framed photos and cross stitches of, you guessed it—Jesus-fucking-Christ. There were sayings like ‘God is Love’ and ‘Thy word is truth’ in tacky gold frames and a huge one over the couch of the last supper.

From his slumped position on the couch, Frank groaned. Gerard slid in beside him, pulling Frank into his arms and cuddling him to his chest. His hair was greasy and matted but Gerard rubbed his nose in it anyway. When Frank sat up Gerard tried to kiss him— Frank gave him a shove and clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Noooo,” Frank whined through his fingers. “Cold sores. You’ll get herpes.” Gerard tugged his hand away and sure enough, his mouth was scabby and pretty gross. He kissed him on the forehead instead. Frank murmured and let his head drop to Gerard’s shoulder. “What’s with the soup? Is it homemade?”

“Yeah. All vegetables and noodles.” Gerard rubbed his back as Frank breathed hot and sticky into his neck. “Nothing that will make you sick. Or, sicker.” 

“Any sicker and I’d be dead,” Frank croaked.

Gerard tutted. “Don’t say that.”

Gerard was petting his hair again when Frank suddenly dislodged himself from Gerard’s embrace. With a grunt, he said, “Shit. My mom’s home.” Gerard jumped up from the couch but didn’t know what to do. He froze, glancing around with wild eyes. A car door slammed. Frank motioned at the armchair across the room and Gerard dove into it, heart pounding. 

The front door swung open. 

“Frankie, dear,” she called out, “Are you awake?” She popped into the living room. “Oh!” she exclaimed when she saw Gerard. “Hello.”

“Mom, this is a friend of mine. He came for a visit and brought me soup.” Frank gestured desperately at the table and then flopped back onto the couch, getting a face full of pillow.

“That’s kind of you,” she said to Gerard. “I don’t think we’ve met.” She stuck out her hand and he shook it, introducing himself. “Gerard,” she repeated. “That’s so nice of you to visit Frank while he’s sick. Did you make the soup yourself?” 

“Yeah. It’s my grandma’s recipe.” Gerard clutched his hands together in his lap. “She passed away a few months ago. I’m not the best cook, but I’ve been trying.”

“I’m sorry about your grandmother, dear. Were you close?”

“Yeah.” Gerard nodded.

“Frankie was close to his grandparents too.” She motioned at Frank. She walked over and fussed with his blankets. “How are you feeling, honey? How’s your cough?”

“Fine.” Frank’s voice was rough. He croaked like a frog and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Uhh, better?” he tried. She whipped a stethoscope out of her bag and helped him sit up so she could listen to him hack for a minute or two. When she finished, she tucked the blankets around him and said, “If it gets any worse I’m taking you in for an x-ray. The last thing you need is a bought of pneumonia.” She felt his forehead and tousled his hair. “How’s your stomach? Have you had a bowel movement today?”

“Mo-om.” Frank stuffed his face in his pillow and Gerard bit off a chuckle.

“Frankie, I’m sure Gerard goes to the bathroom like everyone else.”

“Moooooom.” Frank groaned into his pillow. “Stop talking about poop.”

“Okay, honey.” She glanced at her watch and sighed. “I’ve got to get back to work. I just wanted to check on you. Call me if you need anything, okay?” She ran a hand over Frank’s sweaty head as he nodded. “It was nice to meet you, Gerard.”

He sat up straighter. “Thank you—nice meeting you, too.” 

On her way out, she stopped and said, “Gerard, be a dear and make sure Frankie goes to bed when you leave. He’s been on that couch all day.”

“Will do!” Gerard chirped. A few seconds after the front door had closed behind her, Gerard fell back in a fit of giggles. “Your mom is awesome.”

“Not when she’s talking about my bowel movements, ugh,” Frank complained into his pillow. He pushed himself into a sitting position. “She thinks it’s okay to talk like that because of Hambone. He freaks out about every little scratch and my mom answers his stupid medical questions.”

“Is he a hypochondriac or something?”

“No, just a whiney, little bitch. Mrs. Iero,” Frank croaked in a higher-pitched voice, “I think I’m running a temperature! Mrs. Iero, my tummy hurts. Mrs. Iero, can you look at the thing on my back—I think it’s getting bigger!”

Gerard was in stitches when Frank stopped shit-talking John to hack up a lung. The cough doubled him over. It sounded painful and Gerard was at his side in a flash. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get you to bed.” He helped Frank upright and bundled him in the comforter. He considered carrying him but surely that would end in disaster. Instead, he slung an arm around his back and followed as Frank shuffled to a room at the end of the hall.

It was pitch black. Frank more-or-less crashed landed on the mattress as Gerard flicked a lamp on beside the bed. Scattered across the bedside table were pill bottles, used tissues and an empty glass all smudged around the rim.

Frank flopped around, cursing and groaning as Gerard helped him get under the sheets. They had a fresh scent like they’d been recently laundered and Gerard thought of Frank’s mom. He pulled the comforter up to Frank’s chin. Once he was settled, Gerard touched his hair lightly. 

“I’m gonna get you some water—do you need anything else?”

Frank mumbled incoherently into his pillow and shook his head, so Gerard picked up the glass and left. He grabbed the container of soup on his way to the kitchen and stuck it in the fridge for Frank to eat later.

When he came back, Frank was lying on his back, eyes shut. His skin was so pale he looked like a corpse. Gerard set the water down and touched Frank’s cheek, glad it was warm. Frank murmured at the contact.

“You want some water?” Gerard asked as he tossed the used tissues from the bedside table into a wastebasket. There was a bucket beside it and Gerard looked away, stomach turning over. Frank grabbed a pill bottle, catching Gerard’s expression.

“Don’t worry, I don’t need it.” He heaved himself upright and accepted the water, popping a few pills. “Living with my mom it’s like, standard operating procedure.”

“You’re sick. It was a possibility.”

“And yet you came anyway.” 

Gerard smiled and took the half-empty glass from Frank. “Yeah. You’re sick. And I missed your face.” He caressed Frank’s cheek. “You need anything else, baby?”

“Baby?” He pouted, reaching out and grabbing Gerard’s other hand. “Shut up.”

“You’re all cranky and helpless,” Gerard said fondly. “I could call you Frankie instead?”

“Only if you never want to get laid again.”

“Not like anything sexy’s happening tonight, Frankie, baby.”

Frank grumbled into his pillow and then turned a single eye on Gerard. “My mom is such a cockblock.”

Gerard laughed. “More like your fever and congestion are cockblocking you. I’m willing to offer some cuddling if you want?”

“Will you rub Vic’s on my chest?” 

Gerard thought it was a joke until he spotted the tiny tub on the bedside table. He unscrewed the lid and took a whiff. The minty scent flooded his sinuses and made his eyes water. He eased the blankets down and Frank rucked up his t-shirt. The gel was cool and sticky, so Gerard warmed it up between his fingers before rubbing it across Frank’s sternum. 

“The night we met and you gave me your jacket? This is what it smelled like.” Frank hummed as Gerard massaged it across his pecs and down the centre of his chest. It added a sheen to his tattoos. Gerard traced the tattoo over Frank’s heart, fingertips lingering over the flames. “All done.” He wiped his hand off with a tissue.

Frank murmured his thanks as he burrowed himself under the blankets. “You wanna watch a movie?”

Gerard scanned the room. The essence of Frank was plastered on everything—horror movie posters on the walls, stickers all over his dresser, bookshelves stuffed with paperbacks and records and knick-knacks tucked into every spare inch. It was tidy for someone with so much stuff. He spotted the stack of VHS tapes on the dresser first and then the old TV and VCR beside them.

They were mostly horror and comedies from the eighties with a couple of art-house films thrown in. Gerard picked out ‘Wings of Desire’ and swapped it for the ‘Aliens’ tape in the deck. It was dreamy and slow-moving with a sombre soundtrack so the mood was appropriate.

Gerard settled on top of the blankets beside Frank, shifting around until they were both comfortable. Frank cuddled under Gerard’s arm and used him as a pillow. Gerard petted his hair a few times, brushing his bangs out of the way to kiss him on the forehead before starting the movie.

Ten minutes in and Gerard was certain Frank had nodded off, not only because his breath had deepened but because he wasn’t giving Gerard a running commentary. That was a good thing. Gerard had forgotten how fucking depressing the movie was. He fell into the story though, instead of getting lost in his head, the warmth of Frank’s body against his keeping him grounded. He didn’t fall asleep but when the movie ended his limbs were heavy and relaxed. He was a bit sad, mulling over the notion of love and separation, but held onto the moment nonetheless.

It was getting late and as much as it loathed him to move, he had to leave. God forbid Frank’s mom find him sleeping in his bed come morning. When he shuffled out from under Frank, Frank stirred. His eyes slit open and he made a noise of complaint but went willingly as Gerard adjusted a pillow under his head and tucked him in.

Gerard kissed his forehead again and murmured, “Night, Frank. Feel better, baby,” before flicking off the lamp. As he closed the door, he could hear Frank’s raspy snoring out through the hallway. He glanced around at the walls. There were tons of pictures, many of a tiny, smiling Frank and some awkward teenaged ones too. Even his pimply, puffy face was smiling for his graduation photo.

When he left, he made sure all the lights were off and the door was locked behind him. Poor Frank. He made a pathetic invalid and Gerard hoped he got better soon. It was a little selfish—Gerard hadn’t been able to kiss him properly for a week.

The next day, Gerard got his wish. 

Frank called him after a miraculous recovery. His voice was still shot to shit and he couldn’t talk a lot without coughing, but he said he felt much better. “I think it was your soup. Liquid miracle,” Frank said.

“Nah,” Gerard argued. “It was my attentive bedside manner.” ‘And my love,’ he didn’t say aloud. Frank easily agreed and they made plans to see each other the very next day (when God willing, Frank’s cold sores would be healed).


	19. F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A.L.L.E.D. L.O.V.E.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warning: sexual content

Denial was a glorious way of life. Gerard had woken up happy that morning. Happy until he remembered what day it was. The realization struck like a slap across the face; Frank was leaving in less than twenty-four hours. The band had booked gigs up and down the East coast, enough to keep them away for weeks. Six long weeks.

It was a Friday afternoon. Gerard dismissed his last class of the day early, ensuring his car was the first one to leave the lot. He had plans to crash the Pencey Prep rehearsal and steal Frank away for dinner. The band were playing a _bon voyage_ show in the city before they hit the road tomorrow morning.

The drive to Tim’s triggered thoughts of their first date and how he’d pushed Frank away. He wondered if things would have turned out differently if he had let Frank kiss him that night. Or if he had invited Frank home for sex instead of out for breakfast? Would it have changed the course of their relationship? Would it have changed everything? Gerard would give up anything to have his grandmother back, but by now he accepted that there was nothing he could have done to save her. It hurt but it was the truth.

When he rang the doorbell he had to wait a minute or two before he heard feet stomping to the door. His heart raced and his stomach fluttered like it was their first date. He quickly brushed a hand through his hair, fingers going numb from the cold. Frank’s grinning face appeared from behind the door and Gerard practically fell into his arms, allowing Frank to haul him inside.

“I know I’m early—I’m sorry,” Gerard said into Frank’s neck.

“No, it’s good. I’m happy you’re here.”

Because they were alone upstairs, Frank was able to kiss Gerard thoroughly and properly. Gerard was getting broody already, vowing to hold on to every last moment he had with Frank before he left. According to Brian, Gerard had abandonment issues. If the ache he felt in his heart had a name then add that to the fucking list.

They kissed until Gerard felt warm, inside and out. Frank tasted strongly of mint so Gerard figured he’d been drinking. He tended to overdo it with gum afterwards but it was better than tasting a brewery. And Frank was in no rush to stop, either. Gerard wondered who was indulging who? 

When someone shouted up the stairs, “Frank, get your ass back down here!” Frank pulled away from Gerard and rolled his eyes. “We’ve been arguing about the setlist for an hour but we’re nearly there. Just got one more song to sort out and then I’m all yours.” He planted a final kiss on Gerard’s lips before motioning for Gerard to follow him through the house and down the stairs in the kitchen.

The basement reeked of sweat and mothballs, the smell getting stronger with every step. A gross shag rug covered most of the floor, stained and flattened from foot-stomping and heavy gear. There was a dingy couch to match, paisley-patterned with patches of grime as big as the gaudy, faded flowers. Neil and Shaun were lounging on it, sucking from bottles of Corona while John paced back and forth, ranting about a song that, ‘Sounds like Alanis Morrisette caterwauling about a bad date’. Tim sat behind his kit, flipping his drumsticks up in the air and rolling his eyes behind John’s back.

“Frank!” John shouted. “Final decision. Something To Prove. In or out?” He gestured with his beer and the liquid sloshed over his hand and hit the rug. He licked his hand. “It’s a split vote—you’re the tie-breaker.”

“Why don’t we play it for Gerard? Let him decide.”

“Who?” John barked as Gerard stepped out from behind Frank and the dark of the stairwell. All heads turned to Gerard as his face warmed and his stomach twisted in protest. 

“Don’t be an ass—you remember Gerard,” Frank said casually.

The guys had a silent conversation with shrugs and glances. Tim was still twirling his drumsticks around like he didn’t give a fuck. Neil downed the rest of his beer before launching himself off the couch. He nearly barrelled over John who was turning a circle in the middle of the room with a confused look on his face. “Why the fuck does he get to decide?”

“He’s never heard the song before so he’s neutral.” Frank laid a hand on Gerard’s lower back and directed him to the ratty old couch. Shaun smiled at Gerard as he vacated his spot and Gerard relaxed a little. 

He hesitated, inspecting the stained fabric before sinking onto a cushion. “I’m not gonna get hepatitis am I?” 

Frank left Gerard with a laugh and stole John’s beer before shoving him towards his guitar. John grumbled and shot Gerard a look as dirty as the couch. Gerard chose to ignore it. Even though Frank was the last one to pick up his instrument, he was the first one in position and ready to play.

The band kicked into gear and Gerard settled in, his eyes on Frank the entire time. The song was sloppy but Frank sang it like Gerard was the only one in the room that mattered. If they performed it like that at the club, surely the crowd would be into it. Gerard told them it sounded great and they should definitely play it. He would admit to being biased but it was worth it for the way Frank beamed at him afterwards.

When the band started packing up, Shaun caught Gerard watching Frank’s ass as he bent down to put his guitar in its case. He smirked and wandered over to join Gerard on the couch. Gerard tensed up, expecting another lecture but all Shaun asked was, “You coming to the show tonight?”

“Um, yeah.” Gerard sat up straighter. “Of course.”

“Cool. So, uh, you and Frank?” Shaun raised his eyebrows and motioned in Frank’s direction where Frank was fiddling with his guitar case.

“Yeah,” Gerard said hesitantly. “What? You didn’t know?”

“Nah.” Shaun shrugged. “But you know how it is—Frank’s real private about his sex life.”

“No, I don’t know,” Gerard said. “ _We’re dating._ He called me regularly when you guys were on tour and we’ve been seeing each other since you came back. Frank’s really never said anything about me?”

“Don’t get all bent out of shape about it. None of us talk about our relationships with each other. If it doesn’t interfere with the band then no one gives a shit.”

“That why the temperature dropped like ten degrees when I walked in the room?”

“They were just surprised.”

“Because I’m a man?”

“Because it’s Frank. He hasn’t had a girlfriend since high school and him bringing you in here like this is kind of a big statement. Girlfriends are not allowed at band practice. Frank knows that.”

“What about the girl that cheated on him?” When Gerard was met with a blank stare, Gerard said, “She was in a band?”

“Kelsey? The chick from Broken-Hearted Belles?” Gerard nodded. “They screwed around on tour for a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t have called it a relationship. Maybe it was.” Shaun shrugged. “Like I said, we don’t talk about this touchy-feely stuff.”

“Why did you tell me I’m not his type?”

“You’re not an Alpine White Epiphone Elitist Les Paul.” Gerard made a face. Shaun rolled his eyes and said, “ _Pansy_ is his type. Not dudes or chicks—guitars. Frank’s devoted to the band in the same way that Tim’s devoted to banging a girl in every city we hit or Hambone getting high after every show. And Neil’s married. Has a kid and everything.”

“What are you devoted to?”

Shaun smiled. “All of the above. Well, no family yet, but someday.”

Because Gerard was poking at the carpet through a hole in his sock and contemplating all of this new information, he was startled when Frank dive-bombed the couch, crashing into his side and trapping him in his arms. When Gerard chuckled and turned his head, Frank’s lips were close enough to kiss, so he did. Fuck the awkward glances from the other guys.

The sweaty smell was familiar as Frank pushed himself further into Gerard’s space, giggling between messy kisses.

“Get a room,” Shaun drawled as he vacated the sofa.

Gerard pulled away but Frank held him tight with one arm and used the other to give Shaun the finger. He snaked in again with his tongue, giving Gerard one last kiss before hauling him up off the couch. Flushed, Gerard hurried to straighten his shirt and fix his hair where Frank had mussed it up with his fingers. None of the guys were looking at them but Gerard felt self-conscious nonetheless. Frank didn’t seem to notice but there was an unspoken tension in the room.

“I’ll see you guys at the club,” Frank told his bandmates as he gathered his things. 

Once they’d left, Gerard breathed a sigh of relief. He got it now—why the rest of the band seemed suspicious of him. Gerard really had crashed their rehearsal. At least Shaun appeared to be on his side now. He could only hope the others would warm up eventually. The band was Frank’s life. One way or another they’d all have to get along.

Gerard thought about it for a minute. The last thing he wanted to do was kill the good mood Frank had going on. But Gerard also knew that it was the kind of stupid thing he’d fixate on and that wouldn’t do either. Fortunately, Frank beat him to it. Kind of.

“What were you and Shaun talking about?” Frank tapped his fingers on his knee and glanced at Gerard. “He wasn’t giving you a hard time, was he?”

“No, he was cool. But… he didn’t know we’re dating. None of your friends did.” 

“Oh. Shit.” Frank’s fingers stilled mid-air. “I know. I never told the guys or anything. It wasn’t like I could sit them all down and tell them I was seeing someone. Or announce my new relationship in between changing guitar strings or Hambone bitching about the setlist. We don’t talk about girlfriends and shit.”

“Shaun said the same thing.”

Frank snickered like he remembered something funny. “We stopped when Hambone started dating this real crazy chick. He wouldn’t shut up about how mental she was and yet he wouldn’t dump her either. Just complain, complain, complain”—Frank made a hand gesture like a yapping mouth. “It was so disruptive for the band. After that, we put a moratorium on girlfriend chatter and I guess it stuck.”

“You guys keep saying, _girlfriend_. Did they know you like guys or was that a surprise too?”

“What? No, of course, they knew. I told you—I’ve had the odd encounter on the road. I’ve never hidden that from them and they’ve never made a big deal out of it. There was never a big coming out moment with them. One night they saw me flirting with a dude and that was it, no questions asked.”

“Okay.”

“Are you mad? Is this something else I should be apologizing for?”

“No.” Gerard glanced at Frank and shook his head. “I’m not. I was just surprised. It caught me off guard.”

Frank sighed and put a hand on Gerard’s knee. “I haven’t been intentionally hiding our relationship from them. We’re not like you and your friends—we don’t discuss our feelings. And I don’t have a Mikey in my life. Bringing you into rehearsal? That was my big announcement or whatever. The guys get that.”

“John was pissed.”

Frank barked out a laugh. “I really enjoyed the look on his face when you said we should play ‘Something to Prove’ tonight. I know it’s not ready but I think we need some crowd reaction before we polish it up. Hambone disagrees. None of that was about you.”

Gerard drove Frank home to say good-bye to his mom before they caught the train into the city. Gerard waited in the car. When ten minutes had ticked by, he cracked a window and started smoking, blowing long streams out into the cold night. He thought about what his life would have been like if he’d had to hide his sexuality from his parents. He’d probably be dead by now.

He was beginning to understand Frank and his reluctance to open up to people. Even though Gerard’s family accepted him the way he was, it didn’t mean the rest of the world shared that view. That alone was enough to make Gerard feel guilty and deserving of hate. If Frank’s own mother had instilled those ideas in his head then Frank must feel it tenfold.

When Frank eventually came out, he was clouded by a storm of rage. He walked quickly, eyes sharp and angry, slamming the car door when he got in. Gerard jumped at the impact and Frank apologized, flashing him a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“You okay?” Gerard rolled his window up and started the car. For a moment, Gerard worried that Frank had done something crazy like tell his mom.

“Yeah.” Frank scowled out at the house. “She wanted one last argument before I left, that’s all. Same old shit. If I don’t start looking for a real job she’s gonna make me move out. She won’t though.” He snapped his seatbelt into place and crossed his arms. Gerard wanted to touch him but his eyes were distant and his rigid posture said to leave him alone.

The drive to the train station was bogged down with tension. On the train into Manhattan, Frank remained quiet and pensive. But he let Gerard hold his hand. Gerard squeezed empathetically and let him simmer in silence.

They wandered the streets until Frank loosened up a bit. Gerard remembered a place that had good veggie burgers and while they ate, he played footsies with Frank under the table until he cracked a smile. By the end of the meal, Gerard was laughing hysterically as Frank threw French fries at him. They got a couple of annoyed looks because they were behaving like a couple of lovesick teenagers but Gerard couldn’t find it within himself to care.

Afterwards, Gerard couldn’t stop smiling. He could feel it in his cheeks, aware of how lopsided it was, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Frank kissed him against a darkened storefront, and still, he didn’t care who saw. His heart was full and his body buzzing with content.

They walked to the theatre in Union Square. The neighbourhood surrounding the venue was busy and alive. Loud, boisterous twenty-somethings filled the sidewalk out front. They found the alley leading to the back where a couple of punks were loading gear into a beat-up station wagon. Gerard spotted the Pencey van but didn’t see the band. 

Before going inside, they smoked and Frank stared at the ground, kicking at the rear tire. Eventually, John appeared, the others trailing behind. They greeted one another with grunts as Tim unlocked the back doors. Gerard insisted on helping carry gear into the venue and was reminded of how hard Brendon had worked to get on Mikey’s good side. Maybe it would work with the band.

They breached the back entrance and bedlam hit. The club was crowded and noisy with the sound of another band on stage. Bottles of beer materialized and they stood around, clinking bottles in a sea of equipment cases. There was little room to breathe. Neil offered Frank a bottle and belched in Gerard’s direction. Gerard gave him a dirty look and ran a hand through his hair as though it had been disturbed.

Frank looked at the bottle and then at Gerard. 

“I’m gonna see if Mikey’s here yet,” Gerard said, close to Frank’s ear. “Have an awesome show.” He kissed Frank on the cheek. As he turned away, Frank caught his wrist, reeling him back to kiss him properly. Gerard grinned through flushed cheeks and left quickly, ignoring the catcalls from the band.

Mikey had secured them standing room in front of the stage. His brother was a fucking pro. As Pencey gained popularity it was getting harder and harder to get a good view at shows. Getting to Mikey was the issue. Gerard squeezed his way through the sweaty, tightly-packed crowd, throwing out apologies. Ray and some other friends of Mikey’s were there too. Brendon had begged to come along—‘I have a fake ID!’—but Gerard had to draw the line somewhere.

The pit was wild through the first two bands but when Pencey came out they went absolutely bananas. The mass of bodies surged forward and back. Gerard held tight to the barricade in a fight to not be swept away. His heart beat wildly when Frank grabbed the mic and picked Gerard out of the crowd with his eyes. With a wink, the band went into the song Frank had played for him earlier.

They were on fire as always. Gerard still couldn’t believe his boyfriend was the frontman. Frank was a fucking force of nature. Near the end of the set, Frank pointed at him and said, “This one’s for you, Gee,” and they launched into a cover of ‘Animal Nitrate’. 

One night Gerard had forced Frank to listen to every single Suede album to convince him of the genius of Brett Anderson and Bernard Butler. Four hours later Frank had teased, “Their music’s okay but I think you only like them because Brett’s hot.”

As Frank crooned, the rest of the room became a blur, the band bleeding into the background. Frank was singing to an audience of one. Gerard was struck by a wave of lust and awe; he was in love. The realization hit him hard and he clutched a hand to his chest as though his heart was in danger of bursting. The song ended and he cheered with the crowd until he was dizzy. When he caught Frank’s eye, he blew him a kiss. Frank caught it and pressed it to his heart.

Mikey elbowed Gerard in the ribs and laughed. Fuck. He’d never hear the end of it.

The band left the stage and the lights went up. Gerard blinked at the brightness as people jostled him around. Mikey motioned with his head and he mindlessly followed him and his gang out with the sweaty crowd. The second they breached the front doors, Gerard lit a cigarette and they headed to a bar down the street where Frank would find them later. 

Watching other people get drunk fucking sucked. Gerard endured it with a lime-spritzed club soda. He had to strain to hear the others at the table through the noise of the bar. Mikey and his friends talked about people Gerard didn’t know so he gave Ray an ear to gripe about his job, nodding and scowling when appropriate.

The air in the room was stuffy, reeking of smoke and filth. A tray of shots was brought to the table and Gerard looked away, swirling the ice cubes around in his glass. He stabbed at the lime with his straw and glanced around the room.

When Frank showed up, he was absolutely glowing. The rest of the table congratulated him on the show with high-fives, cheering and clinking bottles. He ducked his head and thanked them, pulling up a chair beside Gerard. When he leaned into Gerard’s space his breath smelled like beer. Gerard recoiled and wrinkled his nose. Frank apologized, “Sorry. I had a few beers.”

“It’s fine,” Gerard said as Frank dug around his pockets.

When Frank’s hands came out empty, Gerard found some gum in his jacket and waved it around to get his attention. Frank used his teeth to bite it out of Gerard’s fingers, pulling it into his mouth and chewing. “Thanks, baby.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Gerard’s stomach fluttered. This time when he leaned in, Gerard accepted a minty kiss.

Talk shifted to music and Frank joined the conversation with ease. Content to listen, Gerard watched Frank’s tattooed hands as he rambled animatedly about some guitar thing he used. He was loose-limbed and giggly. Tipsy as fuck. Gerard was hit with a feeling he didn’t like at all. The sharp pang of jealousy. He was antsy and annoyed because he knew exactly how a drink would feel right now. But he couldn’t. Other people could have a few drinks, but not him.

“Hey, Frank.” An unfamiliar blond hovered behind the table. He had spacers in his ears and wore a tight t-shirt to show off the tattoos down his arms. “Killer show, man. That fuzz pedal during ‘Yesterday’ was kickass.” The blond shook his bangs from his face as he put a hand on the back of Frank’s chair. Frank grinned wildly and said, “I know, dude, right?” He said the name of it but Gerard was too focused on the blond’s easy slouch and canted hips to remember it.

Before it got too awkward with young and handsome leering over the back of his chair, Frank introduced him as John’s cousin, Nick. Then he slipped an arm around Gerard’s shoulders and introduced Gerard as his boyfriend. Gerard gave him a polite, “Hey,” and Nick replied with a, “Right on.” He fist-bumped Frank and then wandered down the table in search of a beer.

“Hambone convinced him to come on tour with us to sell merch and help with the gear.”

“That’s nice of him.” Gerard slouched to put his head on Frank’s shoulder.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Gerard frowned. “I’m not jealous.”

“See. Cute.” Frank shook Gerard off his shoulder so he could kiss the frown from his face.

“If I’m jealous it’s because he gets to go on tour with you and see you every day when I have to stay here alone.”

“You wanna come with us? Quit teaching to haul my gear around and tune my guitars?” Frank said jokingly.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Later, when some of Mikey’s friends had been replaced by Frank’s bandmates, Gerard found himself done with the evening. The band had brought with them a couple of pitchers of beer and Frank had started drinking again.

That didn’t bother him. It was Gerard’s physical proximity to open alcohol and the thought of how easy it would be to steal a sip from Frank’s glass that was the problem. There’d be repercussions. Mikey caught his eye down the table as if he could hear Gerard’s thoughts and gave him a sympathetic look. One drink and Mikey would be so disappointed in him.

Frank laughed loudly at something and drained his glass, slamming it on the table. He giggled and apologized to Gerard, pushing his forehead into Gerard’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? You not having fun?” Frank tried to meet Gerard’s eye, swaying gently. 

Gerard stilled him with a hand on his neck and shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? We can go if you want?”

“It’s your last night here. You’re having fun.” Frank was still staring at him with big, soft eyes and Gerard couldn’t take it anymore. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I’m going outside for a smoke.” When he left, he didn’t look back to see if Frank was following him.

He lit up the second the crisp air hit his face. The noise from the club spilled out into the street as he wandered down the alley, puffing on his cigarette.

Through the night air, it hit him again. He was in love with Frank.

Someone scuffled through the gravel behind him. When he turned around, Frank stood there looking sheepish and wavering on his feet. Gerard offered him a cigarette.

After Frank had taken a drag he said, “What’s wrong? Are you pissed at me?”

“No,” Gerard said. “Why would I be mad?”

“You’re being all… I dunno.” Frank waved his smoke around. “We’re supposed to be having fun.”

“It’s not fun for me.”

“I thought you were okay with me drinking.”

“I am. I am okay with it,” Gerard said. “But that doesn’t mean it’s fun to watch.”

“Are you still pissed about New Year’s?”

“No,” Gerard said fervently. Then, “I dunno. Maybe.” He sighed, shoulders sagging as he looked up at the night sky. “It’s been a long day and I’m tired. And you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Gerard, c’mon.” Frank finished his cigarette and ground out the butt under his shoe. “You’re still upset. Let’s just go, okay?”

Gerard nodded and shook a hand through his hair. It should have felt like a victory. Instead, he felt hollow and sad. When he didn’t move, Frank gave him a searching look and crowded in close. He ran his hand up the back of Gerard’s thigh, settling on his ass. He punctuated his words with a squeeze. “I just wanna be with you, okay? I’m gonna be stuck in a van with those guys for the next six weeks. I’d rather be alone with you tonight.”

“Yeah, okay,” Gerard muttered, distracted by Frank’s wandering hand. He could see the moonlight reflected in Frank’s eyes. “Let’s go home.”

Frank glanced around. There was no one in sight and they were hidden in the shadows so he kissed Gerard softly. “What d’you want?” Frank drawled as he pushed their bodies together. 

“Frank,” Gerard scolded. “Not here.”

Frank leaned in to breathe in Gerard’s ear. “I wanna take you home, get you naked and desperate. Fuck you so hard you don’t forget me when I’m gone.” He moved Gerard’s hand so he could feel Frank’s half-hard dick in his jeans.

“Jesus, fucking, Christ, Frank.” It took all of Gerard’s willpower not to start something right there in the parking lot. Gerard pressed his hand on Frank’s dick once more. Flashing him a heated look, Gerard wrapped an arm around him and together they stumbled to the train station.

*

They rutted on the bed, half-hard and half-dressed, Frank on top of Gerard. Gerard trapped Frank between his thighs and shimmied back until Frank’s dick made contact with Gerard’s ass through layers of clothing. “C’mon, I want you to fuck me.”

Frank sucked in a breath, jerking his hips. He scraped his nails down Gerard’s bare thighs and tugged at his underwear. The fly of his jeans rubbed against Gerard’s dick in a way that frustrated them both. “Yeah, yeah, yes, yes,” Frank babbled. He rucked up Gerard’s shirt and kissed his navel. “How about we take the rest of our clothes off first?”

Gerard laughed, loud and free. He sat up and Frank clambered from his lap. In a clumsy move, Gerard tried to peel his shirt off. It snagged on his head before he was able to toss it to the floor. While Frank struggled out of his jeans, Gerard rooted through his drawer for lube and a condom. He slipped out of his briefs and let out a long, steady breath.

Blissfully naked, he sprawled out on the bed to lie in wait. He fixated on Frank’s ass in the air as he removed his socks and gave his dick a few shameless strokes. Frank caught him out of the corner of his eye and he cursed, cheeks turning pink. He stripped off his underwear and tackled Gerard to the mattress.

For a few minutes, they kissed frantically, rubbing their naked bodies together as if to reacquaint them. Frank was small but taut and Gerard let him pin his body to the bed. Nothing about it scared him anymore. He fucking loved it, the weight holding him down. The way their skin flushed and limbs intertwined. Frank’s tongue heavy in his mouth. He ran his hands along the planes of Frank’s back all the way down to his ass. Even with closed eyes, he was beautiful.

Friction increasing, Gerard got impatient and pinched Frank’s nipple to get his attention. Frank’s mouth fell open and he gasped, releasing Gerard’s tongue. Gerard made quick work of lubing Frank’s fingers and directing them to his asshole.

“There you go,” Gerard mumbled against Frank’s lips as he worked a finger into Gerard’s ass.

“I know what I’m doing.” Frank stopped moving his hand and Gerard tapped his ass with a heel to keep him moving. Frank wiggled his fingers and Gerard pushed down for more.

“You sure do,” Gerard said with a breathy sigh. “It’s just… I’m gonna miss this.”

“Baby”—Frank slid in another finger—“I’ll miss you too.” Frank bit at Gerard’s thigh and pushed his fingers in deep enough to get a groan out of Gerard. Frank stopped again. Gerard huffed and tugged on Frank’s shoulder until he met him in a sweet kiss. He combed his fingers through Frank’s hair and held his jaw as he kissed him thoroughly. 

“Okay, Frank—hurry up.” Gerard reached between them to tug on Frank’s cock, revelling in the way Frank’s eyes shut and his mouth went slack at the contact. Frank cursed and then mumbled, “Okay, okay. Where’s the fucking condom?”

Gerard retrieved it from under the pillow and put it on Frank’s dick. He rolled it down slowly just to listen to Frank bite back curses, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Don’t come yet,” he taunted. 

Frank grit his teeth and positioned himself. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Gerard tugged at his nipple ring with a cocky grin on his face. “C’mon, hot stuff. Fuck me with all you got.” He wiggled his ass, teasing at the head of Frank’s cock. Frank ducked his head and took a breath. Gerard rubbed encouragement into Frank’s skin as he lined up and eased his way in. It felt fucking amazing.

Gerard grunted and readjusted as Frank bottomed out. His stomach dropped and he was suddenly struck breathless by the intensity of the moment. 

It was a lot to take in and he wasn’t referring to Frank’s dick. He looked up into Frank’s eyes and got lost in the moment. The two of them. The air thickened, hot and filled with promises and lust. Frank shifted closer and pushed in as he fell helplessly into Gerard’s gaze. Frank’s hair shook forwards and back as he fucked Gerard harder, faster. Dark eyes hypnotizing.

Frank stopped suddenly, still inside Gerard leaving him full and wanting. With gritted teeth, he jacked Gerard’s dick, painfully slow and without thrusting. A string of expletives shot out of Gerard’s mouth and he begged Frank to start moving again. When he did, he matched pace with his hand and Gerard cursed again. He worked Gerard into a withering, simpering mess with the palm of his hand. 

Gerard came first. Ejaculate shot across his stomach in streaks of white. Frank thrust two more times and then stuttered in place with a moan to match. He didn’t curse until he was pulling out, sweaty with arms of spaghetti that looped around Gerard after he trashed the condom. He slithered up Gerard’s body and rested his head in the crook of Gerard’s neck. 

They laid in bed talking for hours afterwards. Gerard didn’t want to let go of the night. He’d fucked and been fucked countless times before but this time was different. Sex was usually a means to an end no matter how much he liked the person he was with, sometimes mind-blowing, sometimes merely to get off. This time left him with a happy-safe feeling in his gut that didn’t fade away. A possessive feeling that frankly, frightened him a little.

*

The next morning was sombre. Gerard made waffles and they sat at the table with their coffee, talking about trivial things. It was still dark outside so it felt like the middle of the night instead of early morning. Frank’s gear had been packed in the van the night before so all Frank had left to do was stuff his clothes into his bag and he’d be ready to leave. As Frank was packing, he scooped one of Gerard’s t-shirts off the floor.

“Can I borrow this?”

Gerard wrinkled his nose. “It’s dirty.”

“I know,” Frank muttered as he shoved it in his bag with pink cheeks. The first smile of the day tugged at the corners of Gerard’s mouth as they went downstairs.

Gerard wrapped up the leftover waffles and shoved them into Frank’s duffle bag. Frank gave him a teasing look and it was Gerard’s turn to blush.

They were silent on the way to Tim’s, holding hands over the console and stealing glances back and forth. Gerard parked in the driveway, the nose of his car meeting the front of their dingy tour van. Wordlessly, they both got out and Gerard lit a cigarette to calm his nerves.

The garage door gaped open like a mouth spewing light down the driveway. Inside, equipment cases were strewn across the floor and Shaun and Neil were arguing at the back of the van. 

“Seriously, guys?” Frank dropped his duffle at his feet. “Where’s Hambone?”

The door to the house opened and John stepped out in the midst of stuffing a muffin in his mouth. He froze. “What the fuck?” he said, spraying crumbs everywhere. “This stuff was all in the van last night.”

“Tim said we had to fit more boxes so we took everything out,” Shaun said with a shrug.

“Yeah, I can fucking see that.” John picked his way through the mess. “Frank, say good-bye to your boyfriend and help us sort this shit out.”

Frank flipped him the bird as Tim and Nick carried out two huge boxes. Gerard offered the rest of his cigarette and Frank took it, puffing furiously.

“See.” Shaun pointed. “More boxes.”

“What the fuck is that?” John asked.

“T-shirts. CDs.” Tim led the boxes hit the floor with a thud. “There’s a couple more inside.” 

“A couple more?” John huffed and picked up a case, shoving it in the back of the van. 

Frank gestured at Shaun and Neil. “Your mess, you pack it back up. I’m going to say good-bye to my frigging boyfriend.” He took Gerard by the hand. 

Frank maneuvered them between the parked cars to give them a bit of privacy from his bandmates. Anyone passing by on the street could see them but it was still dark and early enough that no one was outside.

A queasy feeling settled in the pit of Gerard’s stomach so he lit another cigarette. He and Frank passed it back and forth as they talked.

“Six weeks. You won’t even notice I’m gone.” Frank tried to smile but it looked sour. 

“I’ll notice,” Gerard replied quietly.

“I know, I know.” Frank dropped the rest of the cigarette and squished it with the toe of his Chucks. His eyes were downcast and gloomy. He chewed on his lip ring, holding Gerard’s hands and massaging his knuckles with his thumbs. Gerard leaned back against the hood of the van and forced a smile. When Frank squeezed his fingers, sadness welled up inside his chest. He gasped as he teared up. It physically hurt. He didn’t want Frank to leave him.

An apology tumbled out as tears slid down his cheeks. He dropped Frank’s hands to hide his face. Right away, Frank’s hand found the back of Gerard’s head and he pulled him into his arms. He tucked Gerard’s face into his neck and shushed him gently.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gerard sobbed. When his body started shaking, Frank just held him tighter. 

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” He smoothed a hand over Gerard’s hair and kissed his cheek. “It’ll be okay.”

Gerard choked back what he could. “I am a fucking baby, Jesus.” He sniffled as Frank wiped the tears from his cheeks. He held Gerard’s face with both hands and forced Gerard to meet his eyes. “This fucking sucks,” Gerard muttered as though it needed to be said. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t like, forget about me.”

“As if I could.”

“Or decide to move to Florida.”

Frank snorted and shook his head. “I don’t like alligators.”

“And please don’t run away with Hambone’s cousin. Or any other groupies.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Frank pushed their foreheads together and spoke softly, “You know I don’t want anyone else.”  His eyebrows were pinched together and with a pain-stricken look, he kissed Gerard hard as if to prove his point. He kissed him again and mumbled, “I love you,” into Gerard’s mouth. Gerard clutched at him desperately.  Frank kissed across his face and determined, said, “Gerard, I love you,” into his ear.  He met Gerard’s eyes and said it again before pushing his tongue through Gerard’s lips.

Gerard was too stunned to speak so he let Frank kiss him thoroughly.  They kissed until they couldn’t get any closer, bodies flush together and tongues moving as one. Gerard’s heart beat fast, ready to burst from joy and pain simultaneously.  The moment didn’t feel real so he focussed on the feeling of Frank’s warm body pressed to his, Frank’s hand in his hair and the heat pooling in his belly. He wanted more.

One of the guys rapped on the side of the van and called Frank’s name. Growling into Gerard’s mouth, Frank told John to fuck off. But then he sighed and pressed their foreheads together, rubbing his nose against Gerard’s. He gave Gerard one soft kiss before separating their bodies. Suddenly cold, Gerard shivered and pulled Frank back in. Frank hugged him and sighed hot breath into his neck before Gerard let him step back.

Gerard didn’t know what to say. Frank loved him. His insides turned summersaults at the thought. He was terrified to speak. With a steadying hand on Gerard’s back, Frank walked him to his car. He eased open the door and guided Gerard’s head as he climbed in. Gerard’s heart was racing and the last thing he wanted to do was drive away.

Frank leaned down for a final kiss and promised to call whenever he could. Gerard nodded and managed to say good-bye. Anything else and he’d start crying again.

By the time he got home, the sun had started to rise. The sky looked gorgeous: a hazy palette of golden oranges and yellows. Gerard stepped out of the car, hoping to feel some warmth on his face. There was nothing but bitter cold. It was, after all, still winter.

He needed to talk but it was seven o’clock in the morning and neither Mikey nor Brendon were up yet. Instead, he sat in the kitchen and drank coffee, stomach in knots as he replayed the moment with Frank over and over again. The day had been an emotional rollercoaster, to say the least.

The sun was high in the sky when Mikey walked in, giving Gerard a look of disbelief when he saw the empty coffee pot and the look on Gerard’s face. He put on a fresh pot and motioned at Gerard’s sketchbook.

“I know you’ll miss him but if you don’t sleep while he’s away, I’m gonna switch your beans to decaf.”

“He told me that he loves me.”

“That’s good, right? Do you love him?”

Gerard hesitated and then nodded. “Yeah… I think so.”

“So, what’s wrong?”

“I didn’t tell him. I was too busy blubbering like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” Mikey patted his hand.

“Who’s an idiot?” Brendon walked in and dropped into a chair.

“I’m an idiot. Frank told me he loves me and I didn’t say anything back.”

“Stop saying that.” Mikey cuffed him up the back of the head and got up to pour himself a coffee.

Brendon asked him the same question—“Do you love him?”

“The things I feel for him—I feel so much. I’ve never felt like this before.” Gerard sighed.

“You’re totally in love,” Brendon said.

Mikey snorted. “You’re still a kid. What do you know about love?”

“I might be young but I know how it feels. You think about them all the time. When you’re apart it physically hurts, like a part of you is missing. And when you’re together, you feel invincible, like you’re never gonna be alone again, and that means everything. Until it doesn’t. And they dump you like you never meant anything in the first place,” Brendon finished bitterly.

“Okay, Romeo, cool it with the tragic ending. Frank’s on tour for a couple of weeks, that’s all.” When Gerard sighed, Mikey said, “I’m sure he knows anyway. Tell him when he calls. It’s not like there’s a time limit for professing your love.”

Gerard nodded and resolved to get the fuck over it. Frank was out there living his dream and that was a good thing. They had to make this work. Gerard could not spend the next six weeks moping around. 


	20. Mile End

Gerard powered through the week—work all day, paint all night—but now it was Saturday. He wasn’t accustomed to weekends alone. Restless, he wandered through the house wondering what the heck had filled his time before Frank had come along. Thoughts of him were nagging and constant—it had been seven long days since Gerard had heard his voice. He hadn’t called yet and Gerard was getting antsy.

Those three little words— _I love you_ —had been circling his brain since the moment they’d fallen from Frank’s lips. It should have been a relief, but instead, Frank’s confession had sent Gerard reeling in the opposite direction. He felt terrible for not saying anything back. Terrible and terrified. Frank had taken the leap and Gerard felt the same too—why couldn’t he just say it?

A week was a long time to sit on those thoughts. Especially for a perpetual worrier like him. He knew he needed to rip the bandaid off and just tell Frank that he was in love with him. Let Frank know for sure in case Gerard’s hysterics at Frank leaving town hadn’t been enough to convince him. And it would easier on the phone, wouldn’t it?

Gerard agonized over whether or not to call Frank. The band’s pager was meant for emergencies and Gerard believed his restless heart a worthy crisis. Finally, he said, “Fuck it,” and dialled. He carefully tapped out his digits, hoping Frank would get the message. Then he sat cross-legged on his bed, chewing on his nails and staring at the phone in wait.

An hour later, he got a call back. His chest clenched when Frank greeted him warmly. He sounded weary and far away, voice buried amongst the noise of traffic and the buzz of a busy city.

Gerard smiled to himself. “Where are you?”

“Fuck, I don’t even know!” Frank chuckled. “In a parking lot somewhere? The guys were being dicks so I came outside and found a payphone. I have a whole roll of quarters. They were for laundry but I’d much rather talk to you.”

Gerard hummed in agreement. “Did they give you a hard time because I used the pager?”

“Yeah, but they always give me shit. I told Hambone if he didn’t want to be my secretary then he should let me carry the pager, but he doesn’t trust me with it.”

Gerard snickered and readjusted the phone against his ear as he worked himself into internal turmoil. He needed to tell Frank that he loved him. Should he build up to it? Just blurt it out? Frank seemed happy and not at all expectant so he likely wasn’t torturing himself like Gerard was.

Before Gerard could summon the courage, Frank started telling him about the gigs they’d played so far. He went into great detail and when he was done, he asked Gerard about his week. Gerard too had a lot to say about the mundane activities of the week and his original intentions were tucked to the wayside.

“You should come out for a couple of shows,” Frank said suddenly. “Take some time off work?”

“Oh, Frank, I wish I could. But I can’t miss that much school.”

“Isn’t that what substitute teachers are for?”

Gerard scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Are you saying I can be replaced?”

“I’m saying your students wouldn’t miss you as much as I do.”

“Frank,” Gerard said softly. “Is there any way you could come home between shows? Even for a night?”

“Doubt it. Hambone keeps booking gigs. At this rate, I won’t be back in Jersey until the summer.” A miserable noise escaped Gerard’s throat. “I’m kidding,” Frank said gently. “But it looks like we’re going to be away longer than we thought. We heard from that producer about the thing in LA and we’re finally all in agreement about going.”

“Frank, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you.” Gerard bit the inside of his cheek. “You guys are so awesome. The world needs to hear your music.”

“Don’t get too excited—Hambone got us a gig at the Troubadour and right now we’re looking at driving out to California after our show in St. Louis. If it works out, we’ll be out there for at least a month doing shows on the West Coast.”

“Another month? When will you be back?”

“Sometime in April. Don’t worry—I’ll sort it out to be back for your birthday, I promise.”

“I don’t care about that—I just want to see you, even if it’s only one night.”

“We’ll see what happens.” Frank sighed. “This could be huge for us. It’s the biggest opportunity we’ve ever had, you know?”

“I know, I know. I just wish you didn’t have to be so frigging far away.”

“I know. It sucks,” Frank said quietly. “You sure you still want to date someone in a band? I can’t say things’ll ever get any easier.”

“Yes, Frank. I—I care about you… a lot. We’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll find a way to come and see you if you can’t come home before LA.” Gerard sighed into the phone. “I miss you so much.”

“Gerard, I—I miss you too,” Frank said. “I’ll try to call you again soon, okay?”

Gerard held his breath until Frank hung up the phone. He was such a coward.

*

Things got harder after the phone call. Weeks they could manage, but a couple of months? The days went on and on and the nights were lonely as hell. Gerard busied himself with school and tried to distract himself with a long list of things that didn’t help one bit. He spent time alone, either painting or masturbating. He kept the house in tip-top shape. He smoked until his lungs couldn’t handle it anymore. And every night he went to bed with a heavy heart.

Part of his coping strategy was worrying about Brendon and Mikey. Yeah, not a healthy coping mechanism, he knew that. But it was better than crying himself to sleep every night or quitting his job and signing up as one of Pencey Prep’s groupies. He was already formulating a plan to start up an official fan club. Another distraction.

One Saturday, he took Brendon to a health clinic near the University. A few weeks earlier, he had insisted Brendon go for a check-up as well as a battery of STD tests. Gerard paid out of pocket for the ones Brendon’s college health plan didn’t cover. It was important. Brendon joked around afterwards but Gerard knew he was scared. Who wouldn’t be?

In the waiting room, Brendon was uncharacteristically silent. His body was perfectly still except for his knee jiggling up and down. Gerard tried to distract him with a Vogue magazine but Brendon shook his head and stared at the floor, chewing on his lip.

He patted Brendon’s knee. Gerard got it—he’d been there himself, wondering whether or not his indiscretions were going to kill him. Back when he’d been drinking he had slept around a lot and hadn’t always been careful. That first time he’d gone for tests after sobering up was a nerve-wracking experience. 

Mikey had let him share his bed every single night, showering him with reassurances until he got the results back. One hundred percent clean; he had dodged a bullet. Now he got tested every six months and always used condoms. If anything, he didn’t want to put Mikey through that again. And now there was Frank.

They’d both gone for tests before their epic date and obviously neither of them had been with anyone else since. They hadn’t had a huge conversation about it or anything, but Frank had mentioned early on that he was only interested in a monogamous relationship and Gerard had agreed with him. And Gerard trusted him, so, that was that.

When the nurse called Brendon’s name he went in alone and Gerard waited, hunched over and chewing on his nails. It wasn’t long before Brendon reappeared, waving a sheet of paper with a smile on his face. Thank fucking god. Gerard shot up and hugged him.

Mikey was more difficult. He worried as much as Gerard did but was better at hiding it. Sharing concerns with Mikey tended to backfire and cause him even more stress. And Gerard couldn’t handle another big fight, not after the last one. So, he turned to Vickie.

Despite the drama that had happened before Christmas, she still had a key to his goddamned house. They had an unspoken agreement—Mikey agreed not to move out and Gerard let her keep the key. They spent most of their time at Vickie’s place anyway. This way he could keep tabs on Mikey. Or truthfully, Mikey was the one keeping an eye on Gerard.

One evening, Gerard caught her in the kitchen while Mikey was in the shower. She pointedly ignored him as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He carried it to the table and pulled out a chair opposite her. Her eyes flicked up from her trashy magazine and Gerard caught a sharp glare as he sat down. 

“So,” Gerard said all casual. “How are things?”

“Things?” She honked out a laugh. “What do you really want?”

Gerard’s expression flattened. “Fine. What are your intentions with my brother?”

“We’re going there, are we?” She slapped her magazine closed and shoved it aside. Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston were on the cover, captured by a paparazzo post-split. He wondered if Frank would ever be famous enough to have his dirty laundry plastered across magazine covers. Vickie snapped her fingers to pull Gerard’s attention. “Isn’t it clear?”

“You have never been clear about what you want from him.”

“Ooh, ouch, Gee.” She put a hand to her heart and curled her lip. “You already hate my guts—does it matter what I say?” Gerard sipped at his coffee and gave her an expectant look. She considered him for a moment and then said, “I love him.”

Gerard swallowed down his discomfort. How could she say that so freely? Then again, while the words came to her easily enough, she had never treated Mikey as though they rang true. “And when you change your mind and leave him? What happens then?”

“I won’t do that to him again. Listen. I’m in school, I have a job, and an apartment here. I’m not leaving Jersey.”

“It never stopped you before.”

“Oh, fuck you. I’m not that confused teenager anymore. I’ve grown up. You of all people should understand that.” She fixed him a hard stare.

Gerard bristled but refused to look away. “He’s my brother. I don’t want to see him hurt and you jerking him around like that? You broke him and I refuse to just stand by and watch it happen again.”

Vickie reached across the table. At first, Gerard thought she was going to slap him but she grasped his hands instead. “Gerard, I swear to you, I’m not out to hurt him.”

He gave her a long, penetrating look, hoping to see into her soul. If she had one. When she didn’t break eye contact he relented. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that.” Gerard squeezed her hands before she let go. “But Vic, he wants to get married and start a family. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

Vickie snorted a noise of protest. “Back off man, _Jesus_ ,” she complained. “We couldn’t even move in together without you throwing a bitch fit so please, shut the fuck up about it.”

Gerard’s cheeks coloured with guilt and he apologized. He turned a thought over in his head a few times before voicing it aloud. “I’d be okay with it if you moved in here. You have my blessing.”

She snorted. “No thanks. I like having my own space. Your brother’s a total slob. Besides, between the stray you adopted and the fact that your boyfriend still lives with his mom, you’ve got a full house.”

“Geez, is there anything Mikey doesn’t tell you?”

“Not really,” she chirped back. “But if you want to share any details about your sex life, I’d be willing to listen.”

“I’m not telling you about my sex life.” Gerard rubbed his face in exasperation. “I don’t have one right now anyway. Frank’s away on tour but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“Yep. Sucks, doesn’t it?” Gerard nodded and she continued, “I guess you two aren’t like, flexible? Open relationship? While he’s away at least?”

“Oh my god!” Gerard set his coffee down before he spilled it. “You’d better not be offering what I think you are.”

“Barf, no. Not me and Mikey—someone else. Anyone else. Six weeks is a long time to go without sex. It could strengthen your relationship.”

“Ugh. Keep my brother out of this conversation.” On second thought—“Do you and Mikey have an open relationship? Wait. I don’t think I wanna know.” Gerard shook his head.

“There’s nothing shameful in sating your sexual appetite, Gerard. Especially if it’s purely physical,” she purred.

“Please don’t say my name and those words together again. You might be my sister-in-law one day.”

“It might be easier to deal with him being away if you were less stressed in, um, other areas.”

“I don’t want sex. I want to lay in bed and cry until he comes home.”

“Whatever works for you.” She gave him a pointed look. “But are you sure that’s what he wants?”

*

Valentine’s day came and went without a word from Frank. Gerard told himself that it didn’t mean anything but spent the evening in bed, bawling over a box of shitty chocolates one of his students had given him.

Another two weeks passed by without a single call. There was an emptiness in his chest and he was suffering Frank’s absence like a gaping wound. Concern ate away at him. He’d been calling the band’s pager to no avail. He couldn’t be sure Frank was getting his messages, since John would recognize his number by now.

Then, late one night, the phone rang, startling him awake. He answered it before it could ring a second time. His heart thudded and his mouth went dry. Only bad news came in the middle of the night.

He croaked out a, “Hello?” which was returned with the rushing sound of silence. 

There was a breath and then Frank said, “Hey, Gee.”

“Frank!” Gerard’s heart raced in the dark. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine, good, great,” Frank said. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Gerard squinted at the clock. “It’s three in the morning.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Frank muttered. “I didn’t think.”

“I don’t mind—you haven’t called for a while.”

“We’ve been busy. Shows have been so much crazier than last time.”

“It’s been weeks.” Gerard leaned back against the headboard. “I was worried.”

There was a beat and then Frank said, “You worry too much.” Now Gerard could hear it in his voice, how his words slurred together. “You need to chill out.”

“Chill out?” Gerard frowned and hesitated before he said, “Are you drunk?”

“Yeah,” Frank replied. “A little. You gonna give me shit about it?”

“No, of course not.” Gerard’s eyebrows knit together. “Frank, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I dunno.” Frank sighed heavily into the phone. “Nothing. Everything.”

“What’s everything?” Gerard clutched the phone tighter in his hand. “Frank, I’m here—talk to me.”

“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” Frank coughed and then cleared his throat. “Everything is shit.”

“Frank, what’s going on?”

Frank breathed down the line for a long moment. “I just… I miss you.”

Gerard let out a breath. “I miss you too. So much.”

“That’s part of the problem.” Frank made an annoyed noise. “I need space.”

“From what?”

“From you,” Frank said accusingly.

“From me?” Gerard jerked upright, displacing the blankets on the bed. He hugged his knees. “That makes no sense. I haven’t talked to you in weeks. Fuck, I don’t even know where you are. How can you need space from me?”

“I just do,” Frank said in a tiny voice.

“Did you—is there someone else? Do you want that? I know we agreed to be monogamous but if sex is something you need, maybe we should discuss it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re used to hooking up on tour. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck you,” Frank snapped. “I have to go.”

“Frank, _please_ … talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Call your frigging shrink if you need someone to talk to.” Frank sounded annoyed. “And stop calling the pager—Hambone’s gonna change the fucking number with you calling it constantly.”

“Frank,” Gerard warned. “You’re tired and upset. How about you call me back when you’re sober—when you’re thinking clearly.”

“I thought you didn’t care if I drank.” Frank was so worked up his voice cracked. “Fuck you. I can’t even get drunk without feeling guilty about you judging me from across the country. What the fuck, Gerard?”

“I’m not judging you—that’s all in your head. I’m worried about you.”

Frank ended the call abruptly, without another word. Gerard’s stomach churned. He choked in a shallow breath and winced at the tightness in his chest. Frank was clearly not himself. Was it the band and touring? The distance and separation? Heavy drinking? Or was it Gerard himself?

He didn’t sleep a wink after the horrible three am phone call. If he didn’t see Frank soon, he was going to lose his mind. Something had happened. Something bad enough to rattle Frank. And there was little Gerard could do to help if Frank wouldn’t even talk to him about it.

He told Mikey and Brendon everything over breakfast the next morning and they helped him devise a plan.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him but he’s losing his shit.” Gerard rubbed an anxious hand through his hair. “I need to see him but I don’t even where they are.”

Mikey squeezed Gerard’s shoulder. “I’ll find out, make some calls,” he said as he left the room.

“What does that even mean?” Brendon looked bewildered. “I still don’t get how he found me when I was hooking. Does he have friends in the mob or something?”

“I don’t ask.” Gerard shuddered at the thought. “I think it’s more like music industry connections. But he does know a dealer or two.”

“Ohhhh,” Brendon said as he chewed on a piece of toast. "That makes more sense.”

When Mikey came back, Gerard had retrieved his road atlas from the car and was poring over it with bleary eyes.

“Their shows go—Rochester, Buffalo, Cleveland, Pittsburgh… I assume you’re not going to skip school?” Gerard gave his brother a flat look and he continued, “Great. So Saturday night they’re in Richmond, Virginia.”

“And Friday?”

“Baltimore.”

Gerard consulted the maps. If he left after last period on Friday, he could get to Baltimore in time for the show. They could spend the night together and still make it to Richmond the next day. Gerard could drive home from there on Sunday.

“I’ve got nothing important going on this weekend—I’ll come with you,” Mikey said.

“Yeah! Me too!” Brendon punched his fist in the air. “Road trip!”

“Easy, tiger.” Gerard waved a hand. “I appreciate it but I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Are you sure?” Mikey asked. “That’s a lot of driving.”

Gerard toyed with his coffee mug and nodded. He needed to go alone. It would give him time to think and he wanted Frank all to himself when he got there. They needed to talk. Face-to-face. Gerard wouldn’t wait any longer. 

*

Friday morning he took an overnight bag with him to school. When he dismissed his last class of the day, he peeled out of the parking lot faster than his students.

He stocked up on Red Vines and pretzels and grabbed a coffee from the Wawa near the highway before he hit the road. Once he’d paid the toll with pocket change and merged off the I-280 onto the Turnpike, he fell in line with the flow of traffic. The highway was jammed with vehicles. He tapped on the steering wheel and sighed every time he was forced to slow down.

But the thought of seeing Frank made him giddy. He stuck a cassette in the deck and sang along to a mixtape he’d made in the nineties: power ballads and sappy love songs he’d never admit to knowing, all recorded off the radio. When the highway opened up, he picked up speed, ripping alongside the other fast-moving cars.

He stopped once for a pee break and another coffee but still made it to Baltimore in under three hours. The club was downtown and hard to pick out from all the other flashing neon lights. After passing it a few times, he found a parking spot on the street. He’d worry about a hotel later.

People were inside already, drinking and dancing to the music thumping through the club. He wasn’t sure how to find Frank as he hadn’t thought this part through. A Pencey Prep flyer was tacked up on the glass where he paid admission, so in theory, the band was somewhere in the building.

When he didn’t see anyone recognizable near the stage, he approached a man who looked like a bouncer—broad shoulders, flat face and built like an ox. His eyebrows were cemented into a hard line as he stood there with his bulging arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m looking for the band, Pencey Prep.” The man stared down at him with his wide-set eyes, giving him a look that said he’d heard that one before. “I’m not a fan—I mean, I am, but the lead singer is my, ah, friend. I’m friends with the band. I’m from Jersey.” Gerard smiled with teeth and hoped for the best.

The bouncer huffed and glanced around before he asked Gerard for his name and then disappeared into a staff-only area.

Gerard chewed on his nails and bounced on his toes, jittery from all the coffee. Strangers clogged every corner of the room. Drinking, chatting, dancing. It looked like any other club in Jersey but something in his bones told him he was far from home. He suddenly felt uneasy in the room full of strangers. Now, more than ever, he longed to see a familiar face.

The bouncer returned. It was dark and there were so many people that Gerard didn’t see him right away. Then Frank stepped out from behind the bouncer with a disgruntled look on his face and a beer in his hand. When he saw Gerard, something unreadable flashed across his face. He shook his head like he didn’t trust his eyes.

Gerard’s stomach knotted up. He gave Frank a cautious smile and Frank quickly moved into his embrace. Frank was there, in his arms. Warm and familiar. After a moment of desperate clinging, Frank spoke in his ear. “What are you doing here?” He smelled like weed and booze and cheap cologne but Gerard was so elated to see him, he didn’t care.

“I wanted to surprise you.” Gerard waved his hands at him. “Surprise!”

“Wow.” Frank nodded. “I’m—yeah, I’m definitely surprised.” He pulled Gerard in for a kiss. Gerard let him and then pulled away because he tasted like beer. “Okay.” Frank smiled but his eyes were wary. He shrank back and glanced around like he was unsure, finally motioning for Gerard to follow him.

He led Gerard backstage where at least twenty people were crammed into a little room with a handful of fold-out chairs and a sofa. Most of them were standing and they were all drinking and shouting to be heard over the music bleeding in.

“Hold on a minute,” Frank said as he left Gerard standing just inside the doorway, alone.

Hambone gave him a too-cheery wave from across the room. Frank made his way over and seemed to be arguing with him and Shaun. He motioned at Gerard and Shaun nodded in recognition, so Gerard smiled back awkwardly. Someone bumped into him and he got a few curious glances but no one spoke to him directly. He watched as Frank drained his beer and weaved back through the room towards him. Frank motioned with his eyes and Gerard followed out the back door.

“Sorry, it’s so loud in there.” Frank lit a cigarette and offered Gerard the pack.

“Who are all those people?” Gerard’s tension eased with the first drag.

Frank inhaled deeply. “Other bands, people who work at the club, hanger-on types.” Smoke escaped with his words as he flicked ash at the ground.

“Frank.” Gerard touched his arm. “How are you, really?”

Frank shrugged and took another drag. “The shows have been getting crazy. There’s always people around afterwards asking for autographs. It’s cool, but it means we can’t hang out in the bar. That sucks. Seems like we spend all our time either in the back of the van or a stuffy greenroom.” He stubbed out his butt and finally looked at Gerard. “So, what, you came all this way to see me?”

“Yeah, of course, I did. I miss you. The last time we talked—I know you asked for space but I thought if we could see each other and talk, it might help. Whatever’s going on with you, I want to help.”

Frank sighed and took Gerard’s hand, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles. “You should have told me you were coming. This is like, the opposite of giving me space.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just want you to know I’m here for you, even when I’m several states away.” Gerard bit his lip. This was not going at all how he’d hoped it would. “Was this a bad idea? I thought it would be okay. I thought you’d want to see me.”

“I do.” Frank’s gaze strayed to the pavement again. “But it’s a seriously bad time. It’s not like we can hang out. We play in like twenty minutes and then we’re right back on the road.”

“I want to watch the show. After I thought we could spend tonight in a hotel and tomorrow I can drive you to Richmond. That’s the next show, right?”

“Gerard, I can’t.” Frank dropped Gerard’s hand. “It’s not just the shows, I’ve got other band crap to do.”

“I can help? Haul gear, sell merch—whatever you need.”

“You can’t help. You should just go home.”

“Oh,” Gerard said, stunned. “Okay.”

Frank crossed his arms and looked pained. “Why did you come?”

“What do you mean? I came to see you. You told me to take time off work. Come to a few shows. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I’m not.”

“What?” Gerard’s stomach dropped. “Frank?”

Frank shook his head. “I’m sorry—I didn’t want to do it like this. But this isn’t working anymore.”

Gerard caught a chill. He could feel the cold creeping up his arms and legs until it climbed into his chest and seized ahold of his heart. It clenched and when he reached out for Frank, he took a step back. Gerard let his arm fall to his side.

“What isn’t working anymore?”

“Everything,” Frank said flatly.

“What does that mean?”

“You know.”

“I don’t know.” Gerard shook his head. “Say it.”

“Us. We’re not working anymore.”

“Are you seriously breaking up with me?”

“I can’t do this”—Frank flapped a hand between them as though one single gesture could dissolve a relationship—“anymore. There’s too much shit going on.”

“What shit?” Frank shook his head and Gerard was consumed with desperation. “Frank, talk to me, please. Tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s too much shit going on with the band and I can’t deal with you on top of all that.”

“ _Deal with me?_ ” Gerard exclaimed. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Frank clenched his jaw and stared at the ground. “It means that yeah—I’m… I’m breaking up with you.”

“I don’t understand.” Gerard couldn’t stop shaking his head. “You said you loved me.”

“I only said that because you were upset.” 

Gerard flinched like he’d been slapped. It hurt as bad and Frank looked remorseful as soon as the words left his mouth. “Gerard, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that.” Frank glanced up but still wouldn’t meet Gerard’s eyes, stared over his shoulder instead. “Things got too serious too fast. I don’t have the time or energy for a relationship right now.”

Gerard snapped. His face blazed hot and his hands were shaking. “Are you fucking kidding me? You pursued me, asshole. You had months to figure out if you didn’t want a relationship. Months to say something to me. To talk about it.” Gerard shook his head, mindful of the tears welling up in his eyes. “I don’t understand what’s happening right now. I don’t know who the fuck you are right now.”

Frank’s eyes were wild. “I don’t know either but I know I can’t handle any more of this.” He waved a hand at Gerard. “You need to be with someone who can handle all your,”—Frank’s hands flew up in the air—“baggage and shit. Not me. I can’t be that person.”

Gerard couldn’t speak. He was completely stunned. His chest ached like it had been cracked in two. Any minute now he was going to start sobbing and his guts were going to spill out onto the pavement. He wanted to shake Frank until he was back to the person Gerard had said good-bye a few weeks ago. That or slap him.

Gerard left instead. If Frank called out to him as he fled, he didn’t hear it. When he got to his car he was shaking and blurry-eyed. He fumbled several attempts before he got the key in the door. He folded his arms over the steering wheel and put his head down, letting the tears come.

That was exactly what Frank had been talking about; Gerard was too emotional and Frank couldn’t handle it. It was too much—Gerard was too much. He was fucked up and he’d never be okay. He’d never be normal or stable enough for someone like Frank to be in a relationship with.

There was a tap on the car window. Wiping his tear-stained face, Gerard frowned when he saw Shaun standing beside his car. Rage pushed away the pain. Shaun caught his eye and waved like a dope. Then he had the gall to open the passenger door and get in.

“I know it’s none of my business,” he started.

“Then what the fuck are you doing in my car?” Gerard cut his puffy red eyes at him.

Shaun got comfy in the passenger seat and turned to face Gerard. “Frank’s been in a mood lately. Don’t take it personally.”

“Don’t take it personally?” Gerard shouted, hands flapping around and out of control. “He just broke up with me.”

“Frank says the dumbest shit when he’s pissed off. He’s being irrational. Do you know how many times he’s quit the band? Stormed out of practice screaming that he’s never coming back. Once he even smashed a guitar on stage like one of the Everly brothers.”

“This isn’t band practice, this is our relationship.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Shaun replied. “Everyone’s been giving Frank shit about being in a relationship—Frank’s words, not mine. No more than usual but he seems a bit… fragile these days.”

“Then why don’t you lay off? Ask him how he’s doing instead of giving him a hard time about it. You’re supposed to be his friends.”

“It’s just what we do. Don’t think for one second that Frank doesn’t give it as hard as he gets.”

“Well, you’re acting like a bunch of twelve-year-olds. Frank’s not like that with me.” Gerard crossed his arms and frowned at the steering wheel. “Can you just get out of my car? I want to be alone.”

“In a minute. I have to ask you something. Frank said you told him not to go to LA. That you were gonna dump him if he did.”

Gerard’s face went white. “What? I never… I would _never_ ,” he stammered.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Shaun said. “You don’t seem like the crazy girlfriend type.”

“No wonder the guys all hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. Hambone doesn’t hate you.” 

“Hambone’s a creep.”

“Neil likes you.” Gerard gave him a skeptical look. “You freak him out. He doesn’t understand why you being sober makes Frank all prickly about getting drunk himself.”

“And Tim?”

“Um, well, Tim calls you Yoko,” Shaun said, embarrassed. 

“Frank pursued me, you know? Did he ever tell you that? That morning you saw us on the street—he tried to kiss me, not the other way around. He sent me stupid postcards and asked me out and acted like he cared about me.” A few tears squeezed out and it took a moment for him to catch his breath through the pain in his chest. “Oh my god, what else has Frank lied about?”

“He does care about you. He’s just not in a good place right now.”

“And how is pushing me away gonna make that any better?” Gerard clenched his jaw and wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “What’s the point? It’s like I don’t even know him.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Shaun said. “This is just how he is. He’s like a tiny time bomb. He keeps everything to himself and when it gets to be too much, blows up at anyone and everyone.”

“That’s not… that’s not healthy.”

Shaun shrugged. “That’s Frank.”

“You know his mom’s been giving him a hard time too? They had an argument before he left. About the band and him getting a job.”

Shaun rolled his eyes. “What else is new? They’ve been fighting about that since the day we formed the band. She’s all empty threats. And just so you know, he’s never gonna let you meet her.”

“I’ve met her already.” Gerard gave him a look.

“Okay, but I bet he didn’t introduce you as his boyfriend. He’s never gonna tell her he likes dick.”

“Why are you here?” Gerard huffed. “What do you want from me?”

“You’re upset. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m fucking not,” Gerard grumbled. “Now get the fuck outta my car.”

Shaun left and Gerard didn’t know what to do next. Fatigue hit. It was too late to go home, and besides, Mikey would kick his ass if he drove in this state. The best option would be to find a motel off the highway and drive home in the morning. Option B was to find a bar and get drunk.

Utterly, blissfully, stupidly drunk.

He could sleep it off and go home tomorrow. No one would have to know. Besides, that’s what normal people did when they got dumped—used alcohol to numb the pain for a while. Couldn’t he be normal for a change? He fucking deserved it, didn’t he? 

Instead, he called 411 for the local Alcoholics Anonymous hotline to locate the nearest meeting. It was all he could do—he was hanging on by a thread.

When he had gotten sober, AA meetings had given him a place to go and people to talk to whenever he needed it. Ultimately, though, he had tired of the God-centric nature of the program. He didn’t need to believe in God, he needed to believe in himself.

It was a sore spot for Mikey. He thought more meetings indicated that Gerard was slipping. And as much as Gerard tried to explain that that was why he needed to go—to not slip, it still frightened Mikey. 

But then Mikey never understood the grasp that addiction had on Gerard, how sometimes he couldn’t think about anything other than a drink. The pull went deep. Sometimes it was an insurmountable struggle to not give up and give in. Talking to people who battled the same demons gave him company in his fight. And right now, he didn’t feel safe by himself.

The closest meeting was right downtown. It was a closed meeting (alcoholics only) being held in a small church across the street from a dilapidated coffee shop. Inside, the church didn’t look much better. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead and the hallway smelled like dirt and decay. He found the meeting room and inside a dozen or so people were sitting in creaky chairs, focussed on the speaker at the podium. 

Gerard crept in wearing his sunglasses inside like a douche because he didn’t want anyone to see his puffy eyes. The chair protested as he sat down but no one turned to look. He saw a coffee urn and wished for a beer. But that’s why he was there.

Hearing other people’s stories was like peering into a mirror. Day to day, it was hard to notice the changes in himself, but by looking around the room at all these other people at different points in their sobriety he could see himself in every single one of them. He had come a long way and it struck him hard exactly how much he didn’t want to fuck that up. One person—one broken heart—would not shake him from sobriety. He had plenty of other things and people to live for.

A man talked about stealing money from his job. He’d use it to buy cheap Vodka and call in sick the next day, a routine that went on for weeks and weeks. When his boss found out, he told him that the money was to pay for insulin for his diabetic mother and that his sick days were used caring for her. 

There was a woman with the habit of getting drunk at home, blacking out, and then taking her roommate’s car to a bar for more drinking. It wasn’t until waking in the morning that she’d even realized she’d gone out. One day the bumper was missing from the car and she had no recollection of leaving the house. She told her roommate that a neighbour from across the street had backed into it by accident.

There was a kid—he didn’t look any older than Brendon—who stole six-packs of beer from a grocery store. It went on for weeks before he was caught and in his confession, he bawled like a baby about how his father would beat him if he didn’t bring him his booze. The manager was kind and sympathetic, letting him go scot-free when he promised to never do it again. It had been a cry for help.

Gerard thought about all the shit he’d pulled back then. He’d had his own modes of deception: bottles from his parents’ liquor cabinet mysteriously “broke”, he had a recurring case of the flu (hungover), and when he ran out of his own valuables to pawn, Mikey’s things had begun to disappear—walkman, rollerblades, video games, etc. 

He raided his friends’ medicine cabinets for pills. Visited numerous pharmacies with fake IDs to fill single prescriptions over and over again. He’d lie about pains from the accident. Fake injuries for another prescription. His family were so god-damned grateful that he was alive, that he had survived, they couldn’t see that he was slowly killing himself.

And now he was being lied to as he had done to so many people who had cared about him. It was payback. The universe sent him someone to love and he fell for it. He deserved it for how he’d treated people who had loved him when he was fucked up. His face was wet. He wiped it clean and searched through his pockets for a tissue to blow his nose.

After the meeting, most of the people stayed to loiter around the refreshment table. An older woman caught Gerard’s eye and approached him.

“You look like you could use a friend.” She had frizzy bleached-blonde hair like his mom, a silver cross around her neck, and a smile that felt genuine.

Gerard tucked his sunglasses on his head. “I’ve had a bad night.” He rubbed his eyes again.

“Is this your first time here?”

Gerard smiled wryly. “I’ve been sober four and a half years. I’m from New Jersey. I drove here to surprise my boyfriend and he dumped me. I didn’t know where else to go.” 

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “That’s awful, dear. You came to the right place. A couple of us go to the coffee shop across the street afterwards. You’re welcome to join us.”

“That would be great.” Gerard stuck his hands in his pockets and followed them.

He spent two hours with the small group, nursing the worst cup of coffee he’d ever had and talking. They were kind people. He knew he’d made the right decision to go to a meeting instead of caving to his disease. Annie, the woman who’d approached him, gave him her number and said to call her anytime. He thanked her and left.

Before getting into his car, he stood in the parking lot smoking. He leaned against the door, contemplating the sparkling night sky. When his cell phone rang from inside the car, he tucked his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and puffed away while he retrieved it.

“Jesus, fucking, Christ, Gerard. I almost called the police.” Mikey sounded hysterical. “Where are you?”

Gerard’s eyebrows pinched together. “You know I’m in Baltimore. I told you I’d call you tonight. I got here a few hours ago.”

“I know you’re in Baltimore. Frank called,” Mikey said softly. “He said you got in a fight and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“A fight?” Gerard clenched his jaw to keep from crying. “Mikey, he broke up with me.”

“What?” Mikey said breathlessly. “What d’you mean? What happened?”

“I dunno. I don’t want to talk about it.” Gerard blew out a stream of smoke and watched it fade into the night. “I’m gonna get a motel room tonight. I’ll drive back in the morning.”

“Gee…”

“Don’t ask me if I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Mikey said softly. “Call me in the morning, alright?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

When he hung up he saw that he had over a dozen voicemails. Some from Mikey, but mostly from unknown numbers. Frank. He deleted them all without listening to a single one. Then he slipped his phone in his pocket and stubbed out his cigarette. If Frank called again, Gerard would not do him the courtesy of answering.


	21. Love Is Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My only warning is that things for Gerard get worse before they get better.

Over the next few days, Frank left several messages, all of which Gerard deleted. Ignoring Frank felt good until Frank stopped trying altogether. Then Gerard was crushed. While he didn’t have the courage to talk yet, he needed to know that he was still worth pursuing. That he still meant something to Frank. After a week of radio silence, Gerard was overcome with regret. Was that it? Was it over? Surely their relationship was worth more than a bitter fight and a handful of voicemails.

When Gerard had returned home from Baltimore he’d given Mikey the vaguest of details. Told him they’d argued, that the long-distance thing wasn’t working and they broke up. The things Frank had said to him—he couldn’t bear to repeat them. From the look on Mikey’s face, he knew there was more to it than that but he didn’t push. 

Gerard didn’t mope, he didn’t cry, and he didn’t want to fucking talk about it. Instead, he retreated into himself. A voice at the back of his head reminded him of the stages of grief and he cursed that his broken heart could be summed up in one of Brian’s stupid pamphlets.

Denial and isolation.

Yes, well, he was definitely in denial. The entire situation had caught him off guard. Zero warning or indication that Frank was unhappy with him or their relationship. And Gerard couldn’t process it until he had some closure. Part of him wanted to go on like nothing had happened as he held on to hope that things would be different when Frank eventually came home. That Frank would be back to normal. Nothing could excuse Frank’s sudden change of heart but the reality of the situation hurt too damn much to bear thinking about.

Isolation was easy—being alone came second nature to him. He took great pains to avoid Mikey and Brendon because he really fucking did not want to talk about it. If he didn’t talk about it—it didn’t happen. And so, they skulked around him, trading off shifts like Gerard was some sort of science experiment that needed constant monitoring. Food materialized before him, Mikey ushered him into the shower once or twice, and Brendon suddenly decided that the couch in the attic was an ideal place to study when Gerard was throwing paint around.

That’s where his focus went. Any emotions he had left were poured into his work. Paint colours mixed with sadness and despair, streaks of tears down a blank canvas. He had to be ready for the art show. One last hurrah for his grandmother. He wanted to do her proud because it was about all he had left.

School was rough and Gerard couldn’t tell if the hurdles were too high or he simply couldn’t handle things with the ease he used to. Everything turned into a fight and he was fucking exhausted. 

The students were rehearsing ‘Up The Down Staircase’ for the spring play and the school board had gotten involved. They insisted he cut a scene in which a student attempts suicide over her unrequited love for her teacher. Controversial, yeah, but it was important. Vital to the show. Gerard attended meetings and did his best to defend it, but in the end, he lost. 

Raising hell over the drama department put him in the spotlight and some parents were pushed to the brink of their tolerance; he attended a PTA meeting to argue his case for the play and ended up causing more trouble than he ever could have imagined.

“This is bullshit,” Gerard muttered. The principal gave Gerard a warning look and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. 

(The principal was a decent guy. When Gerard had first met him, Gerard had immediately promised him his hair would be back to normal and not cartoon-red for the start of the school year. In reply, the principal had shrugged and said, “Oh, don’t worry about that—this is an art school, after all. The art teacher you’re replacing used to eat chalk and that was before she had a nervous breakdown.”

“Um, I won’t be eating any chalk. Or having a nervous breakdown,” Gerard replied with what he hoped wasn’t a lie. “The old art teacher… is she doing okay?”

“Mrs. Kraus? She’s fine. We moved her to the English department.”

Gerard ran into Mrs. Kraus once. She warned Gerard in a German accent that he should ‘Watch out for those little bastards’ in regards to his senior art class. After that, he steered clear of her.)

The PTA meeting was spiralling into a riot. Parents were riled up, bickering amongst themselves, shouting at the principal and pointing fingers at Gerard. Gerard had lost control of the room when someone accused him of turning their kid gay with the GSA. Another parent came to his defence and suddenly he was the subject of a turbulent debate.

The principal rubbed his temples as he approached the mic. “Everyone, please sit down. You can all have your say—one at a time.” There was some grumbling but the room quieted. The principal allowed them to speak one by one but he made them raise their hands like they were in class.

“That group is inappropriate and it’s irresponsible of the school to allow it to continue.”

“My kid loves that group. She talks to me now.”

“He could be teaching our kids anything. I found dirty magazines in my son’s room—with naked men—and he won’t tell me where he got them.”

“Thanks to the GSA my son knows more about safe sex and respect than my husband does!”

“That man is a sexual predator”—Gerard grabbed the mic and snapped—“I’d advise you against making accusations with no basis. It’s called defamation of character and I’m not afraid to call a lawyer.” He’d had enough of these fucking idiots.

The principal ushered him aside to address the room. “Clearly this is a bigger issue than we can resolve tonight. The GSA is suspended until further notice.” Gerard’s mouth gaped in shock. He went to grab the mic and the principal stopped him with a hand. “Anyone with concerns about the group can attend a meeting at a later date. Tonight’s meeting is dismissed.”

The parents filtered out, noisier than usual, while Gerard stood there, stunned. Some of them flashed him side-eyed sneers and others came forward to give him their support. Unfortunately, none of them were teachers at the school. The principal said it was time for Gerard to find another teacher to supervise the GSA meetings. _Supervise Gerard_ , he didn’t say. _Someone wholesome and not gay_ , he didn’t say. Not that it mattered. Gerard was the only ‘out’ teacher at the school. He quickly found himself rethinking his opinion of the principal.

With the GSA temporarily disbanded, Gerard changed tactics. He designed a kick-ass flyer, recruited a nerdy teacher and started an after school Dungeons and Dragons club. It took some convincing but a bunch of the kids from the alliance group showed up to the first meeting. They were confused when he made them create game characters instead of getting a lecture about safe sex, but he had to tread lightly.

If he ran legit D&D campaigns, he could also be there to for them to talk to, all under the unsuspecting eye of the history teacher, Mr. Gordon. It was a win-win situation! As long as the principal didn’t find out.

They had one meeting and the principal found out.

Gerard was summoned to the office like a delinquent and reprimanded like he’d been caught smoking in the bathroom. Parents had complained but the principal wouldn’t specify who. The D&D club would continue under the supervision of Mr. Gordon, without Gerard. And he was advised against talking to kids about their personal lives during lunch or between classes.

Gerard was fucking livid. He knew the warning was serious but how the hell was he supposed to help kids if he wasn’t allowed to talk to them about their problems? It was a huge, steaming pile of bullshit. Another failure to add to his growing list. 

A rage was building up inside. He had zero patience left and eventually, he cracked. He lost it in the kitchen one morning, shouting at Mikey and Brendon to give him some space. He was fine. Mikey told him flat out that he was being a jerk and Brendon went back to hiding in his room under the pretence of studying.

Gerard was fine. He didn’t need a fucking babysitter.

Or maybe he did. Even the kids at school noticed how cranky he was. They were suspiciously well-behaved when they’d normally be all up in his face with their teenage angst. He found himself alone more often than not—no one could stand to be around him. Even Mikey and Brendon started giving him a wide berth. 

When Brian brought it up at an appointment, Gerard was subdued with guilt. His behaviour was suddenly clear as day. He was taking his frustrations out on all the wrong people. They didn’t deserve it—Gerard did.

He replayed the fight with Frank over and over. Thought back on conversations and phone calls and came to the conclusion that if anyone was to blame for the break-up, it was him. He had been too busy with his own drama to notice Frank’s discontent. He should have taken Frank’s issues more seriously. He should have listened when Frank asked for space and he should have told Frank that he loved him. And now it was too late.

Of course, when he told Brian all this, Brian strongly disagreed. Gerard tuned him out. Hating himself was easier than hating Frank. He had, after all, been doing it for much of his life. Thankfully, there was a breaking point.

One night he came home from school to find Mikey on the sofa, pounding out texts on his phone. Gerard flapped a hand in lieu of a greeting and went straight to the kitchen, Mikey hot on his heels.

“You haven’t RSVP’s for Ray’s wedding.” Mikey leaned on the counter and watched Gerard rummage through the fridge. Gerard straightened up and gave him a look. “Of course, I’m going.” He shut the fridge without taking anything out.

“I know but… he needs to know if you’re bringing a date.”

Gerard cut his eyes at Mikey in reply. He yanked open the cupboard and stared at the boxes of pasta and crackers.

“No date.” Mikey tapped away on his phone. “Oh, shit,” Mikey murmured.

Gerard shut the cupboard and looked at him. “Oh, shit—what?”

“Nothing,” Mikey said quickly. “I can make you a sandwich if you want? Or we can order pizza?”

“What is it?” Gerard motioned at the phone. “Just tell me. Did Ray invite Frank to the wedding?”

“No, of course, not.” Mikey stuck his phone in his pocket and crossed his arms. “Although, the keyboardist from Pency will be there. He’s playing with the wedding band.”

“Shaun? I didn’t know Ray knew him.”

“He’s scoring that movie Ray’s working on. I think they know each other from high school.” Mikey studied Gerard before continuing, “Is it gonna be weird if he’s there? He’ll be with the band all night.”

“I don’t care,” Gerard said flatly. Mikey quickly looked away and busied himself in the refrigerator. He seemed more intent on making a sandwich than meeting his eyes. “What are you not telling me?”

Mikey sighed and gave Gerard a long look. Then he said, “Frank’s back in Jersey. Apparently, the band’s been back for a while.”

Face blank, Gerard stood there for a moment while that sunk in. When he started feeling light-headed, he fumbled his way to sit at the kitchen table. He slouched and picked at his nails, eyes brimming with tears. Mikey touched his shoulder and it hit him.

His last thread of hope snapped. “Whatever. It’s not like we’re gonna get back together.” He ran his fingers through his hair and then put his face in his hands. “Fuck. You’d think he’d at least call me to tell me he’s back. That’s how worthless I am.”

“Gerard, you’re not worthless.” Mikey slid into the chair next to him. “Why don’t you give him a call yourself?”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me. He dumped me because I’m fucked in the head. He couldn’t deal with me and my issues anymore. I’m lucky it lasted as long as it did.”

“That’s not true.”

“That’s what he said.”

“What d’you mean? He said that?” Mikey got loud and Gerard inched back in his seat, nodding. “He actually said that to you?” Mikey lowered his volume and added, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“I never told him that I loved him. I never said it back.”

“So? Who cares if you said the words or not?”

“I’m just saying, maybe that’s why he dumped me.”

“Frank did not turn into an asshole because you didn’t say ‘I love you’ and if he did then he’s a fucking baby who isn’t mature enough to be in a relationship in the first place.”

“Or I’m the one who shouldn’t be in a relationship.”

“Would you listen to yourself?” Gerard bristled when Mikey raised his voice again. “None of that is true and you know it. You’re not too fucked up. Frank has issues that have nothing to do with you. This is all on him.” Mikey squeezed his shoulder, giving it a shake. “Don’t believe his bullshit. Don’t let one stupid asshole convince you that there’s something wrong with you. Frank doesn’t deserve your love and the sooner you realize that the sooner you can move on. Find someone who doesn’t fucking gaslight you second their life goes to shit. You are worth so much more than that, Gerard.”

Gerard nodded and tried to believe it. Told himself that things with Frank were over and done with. He had to accept that. But he was lonely. Resigning himself to a life alone was fucking depressing. He’d grown accustomed to sleeping beside a warm body and being touched on a regular basis. Friends and family would not cut it.

So, while he recognized it was irresponsible to bring both of them home without a thought to the consequences, he found he didn’t give a shit. Fuck impulse control—he was an adult. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted to. It was his house and he made his own decisions.

He panicked, though, when Mikey came home early and there wasn’t time to escort them upstairs to his bedroom. He flailed from his spot on the floor as he tried in vain to hide them behind his back.

“What the hell, Gee?” Mikey peered into the room. “You couldn’t bring a couple of guys home instead?”

Gerard froze and gave Mikey a weak, crooked smile. Then he cuddled the two kittens to his chest and set his sad eyes on Mikey. “Cats are better than sex. I need cuddles and unconditional love.”

One of the kittens mewed and the corner of Mikey’s mouth quirked. He folded to the floor and Gerard handed him a tiny black furball. “That’s Manon and this is Marjorie.” Gerard rubbed his nose into the other one’s stomach. “Mikey, they needed me,” Gerard enthused.

“Where’d you get them?”

Gerard sighed and kissed the kitten’s fluffy belly. “Long story.” She wriggled in his hand so he lowered her to the floor and watched her roll around, trying to eat her tail. Mikey set Manon in his lap and let him play with his fingers, giving Gerard an expectant look. Gerard watched the kittens tumble around and a deep frown took over his face. “I went to Whole Foods”—

“Oh my god—why were you at Whole Foods?” Mikey cut in. “I thought you hated all that expensive hippy shit?”

“I got used to shopping there and… I like it—okay?” He didn’t say because of Frank, although he was surprised that Mikey hadn’t figured that out. “I ran into John.” Gerard flapped a hand. “Hambone? From Pencey?” When Mikey nodded, Gerard continued, “He cornered me in the freezer section.”

—“Gerard, hey!” John called out from down the aisle.

Gerard startled and sent a box of veggie burgers tumbling to the floor. John scooped it up and handed it over like a peace offering. “Long time no see! How’s life?”

“Fucking peachy,” Gerard said flatly.

“I mean, after all that, y’know—drama with Frank?”

“I’m fine.” Gerard dumped a couple of bags of organic frozen vegetables into his cart. “And I’m kind of busy, so…” John caught the cart, blocking him from leaving. Gerard huffed out, “Do you mind?”

“So, the band’s back in town. Frank’s home.”

“No shit.”

“He’s real sorry about what happened. He seems pretty broken up about it.” 

“He’s upset?” Gerard screeched. He remembered where he was and lowered his voice. “He dumped me. He blamed me for his bullshit and cast me aside like I meant nothing to him.”

“C’mon, dude. He was being a cranky bitch with everyone. At least you didn’t have to spend 24-7 in a van with him. You should talk to him. Try and work things out.”

“I don’t want to work things out!” Gerard realized his words were true and white-knuckled the grocery cart. It would be easy to give it shove, shake John off and continue on his merry way.

“I get that you’re upset, but”—

“I have no interest in talking to him. Tell him to leave me the fuck alone.” He tossed another bag of peas into the cart in case he needed to ice his hand later… after he punched John in the face. “Now get the fuck outta my way.”

“Okay, dude. I’m gonna be straight with you. We’re flying to LA in a few weeks to sort out a record deal. You need to talk to him before we leave—tell him to get his head out of his ass or he’s going to blow it for all of us.”

“This is about your stupid band?” Gerard snapped. “Well, I don’t give a shit! Pency Prep can self-implode and you can all get jobs at McDonald’s for all I fucking care. Frank is not my fucking problem and neither is the state of your band”—

“Did you say all that? Seriously?” Mikey’s eyebrows went up.

“Yeah.” Gerard’s heart thumped as he got worked up remembering it. “I fucking gave it to him in the frozen food aisle. People were staring. I thought I was gonna get escorted out.”

“Good for you, Gee.”

Gerard gave him a wry smile. “Like, what the fuck, Mikey? I feel like such an idiot.”

“Hey.” Mikey put a hand on his back. “You’re not. Frank’s the one who fucked up. You did nothing wrong.” 

Quietly, Gerard said, “It still fucking hurts.”

Mikey squeezed the back of his neck. They watched the kittens tear around the living room and Mikey scooped up Manon and kissed him on the head. He eyed the kitten suspiciously, slowly moving him away from his face. “So, where did the kittens come from?”

“Oh. Somebody left them outside Whole Foods. They were rolling around in an old onion bag! There was a note stuck to it—Baby cats! Free to home!” Gerard gave Mikey a desperate look. “I couldn’t leave them there. They could have frozen to death or gotten squished under a shopping cart!”

“You found them on the street?” Mikey turned the kitten from side to side, giving him a thorough inspection. “Ugh, they probably have fleas.”

Gerard frowned. “I took them to our vet, near mom and dad. They were really nice. One of the girls gave them a bath and I brought home some flea shampoo.”

“Have fun with that. You’re also doing the vacuuming when everything gets coated in cat hair,” Mikey muttered. “So, instead of rebound sex, you brought home a couple of kittens?” Gerard bit his lip and nodded. “Brendon’s gonna flip his shit.”

*

The kittens helped. They slept on his bed and chased him around the house. Keeping them fed meant he frequented the kitchen and skipped fewer meals himself. He resigned himself to moving on with life, even if it was a duller, dimmer version of it. He oscillated between feeling dead inside and being so overwhelmed with sadness that crying was a full-body experience.

The days got warmer. Spring was around the corner. Gerard was so lost that it wasn’t until Mikey asked what he wanted to do for his birthday that he even remembered.

With hunched shoulders, he replied, “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” Mikey parroted back, annoyed. “Fuck you, nothing.” Gerard gave him a helpless look. “We’re going to celebrate the fact that you’re alive whether you like it or not.” 

Mikey said that every year. That he was damn lucky to be alive. Twenty-eight. At least he’d survived the 27 Club. Frankly, he was grateful he’d made it past high school. Now he owed it to his family to stay alive.

Mikey and Brendon had tolerated his sour mood for a month and the guilt caused him to cave. Brendon’s birthday was coming up as well and if anything, he deserved a fun night out. He’d be eighteen and his excitement was more than enough for two birthdays. The idea of a social outing triggered hot flashes and chest pains, but he owed it to both Mikey and Brendon. They were so excited he was afraid to ask.

“Karaoke!” Brendon cheered.

Mikey had a knowing look on his face. “There’s this place in Orange. Italian restaurant. It has a bar but it’s all-ages and they serve dinner so it won’t be full of drunk people,” Mikey reassured him. “Now you just have to do something about your hair.” Mikey curled his lip, pointing a finger at Gerard’s head. Gerard touched his hair defensively and frowned.

For weeks his mom had been nagging him about how shaggy his hair had grown. The roots were brown again and halfway down his head faded into a dull and lifeless orangey-red. It was long enough to pull back for school but otherwise remained an unkempt mess. She asked him at least once a week if she could cut it. Go _au naturel_ if he liked and lose the coloured ends altogether.

She had given birth to him, and so, as a gift to her, he went to her salon that Saturday afternoon to let her have her way with it. The day was important to her, obviously. When he got there she kissed his cheeks and cried about her baby boy all grown up. He should hope so. Thirty was closing in at an alarming rate.

At home, he lined his eyes in black and practiced a smile in the mirror. Not very convincing. He dressed in black. The weather was warm enough to wear his leather jacket. All the black made his skin look pasty like he could use a little sun, but otherwise, he resembled a normal human being.

Downstairs, Mikey and Brendon were busting a gut laughing in the kitchen. They were feeding the kittens. Or more accurately, they were taunting the kittens by not feeding them. Mikey shook the bag as they clambered over each other and into the empty bowl, meowing incessantly. Brendon was down on all fours meowing with them.

“Mikey,” Gerard complained. “Don’t tease them.”

Mikey filled the bowl with kibble as Brendon leapt up from the linoleum. His hands went straight for Gerard’s hair. “Oh my god, what did you do with Gerard?” Gerard swatted his hand away and his hair shifted back into place. He didn’t want to think about all the product his mom had sprayed on it to give it the windblown look.

“Looks good, Gee.” Mikey pushed his glasses up his nose. “If you’d told me you were gonna go black again I would have stopped you, but I like it. You look like something out of a Tim Burton movie. That dude in the trailer for Corpse Bride.”

“That’s dark.” Brendon gave him a once over and smirked. “You look like a hot teacher.”

“I _am_ a teacher.” Gerard frowned.

“Yeah, well, now you look hot.” Brendon poked his arm. “Watch out for your students, is all I’m saying.” Brendon batted his eyelashes.

*

Gerard drove. It wasn’t like Brendon was a bad driver but Gerard preferred to be the one behind the wheel. Ray and Izzy were already at a table when they got there. When Vickie strolled in after a while, Mikey’s face lit up. At least with Brendon there, Gerard didn’t feel he was crashing a couples-only dinner party.

The food was good. No one ordered alcohol and for that, Gerard was grateful. He was, however, mortified when the waitstaff gathered around the table and sang happy birthday to him. The waitress brought over a slice of chocolate cake with a couple of sparklers in it and Gerard ducked under the table. Mikey stuck a plastic tiara on his head and made him sit up and take it. Blushing, he thanked everyone and refused to share his dessert.

Tables were cleared and house lights dimmed. A spotlight followed a man in a white suit through the room. He stepped up on the low stage, mic in hand and crooning like Elvis. His voice was strong and commanding as he welcomed everyone and got the karaoke started.

Mikey procured a couple of songbooks and passed them around the table. Stirring his ice with his straw, Gerard wondered if he had the guts to get up and sing without the crutch of alcohol. Usually, his biggest audience was his shampoo bottles in the shower. 

Brendon elbowed him and pointed at a song in the book. “We’re doing a duet.” Gerard looked at the selection and laughed. Well, all right then. Gerard was going to sing karaoke.

First, though, he made Brendon go up and sing on his own. He almost wished he hadn’t because Brendon made it look too easy. His voice was smooth like caramel. He pranced around doing his best Whitney Houston like he was born for the stage. The crowd was encouraging even when the participants were downright awful. Mikey sang ‘Living on a Prayer’ and he was more-or-less tone-deaf. Everyone cheered. Probably for Jersey but whatever—Mikey walked off the stage with a bounce in his step.

Gerard was happy and relaxed. More people in the room were drinking—he could see bottles of beer and cocktails being served to other tables—but he didn’t let it bother him. He could do this. He could have fun on his birthday.

He and Brendon sang ‘A Whole New World’. The song was a crowd pleaser but Gerard suspected half the room was in love with Brendon and his falsetto.

During the second verse, Gerard caught a flash of a familiar face near the bar at the back of the room. It was dark though. There was no way it was Frank. Not possible. Gerard lost his place in the song and had to check the prompter. He kept singing. The figure at the back turned around and Gerard’s stomach dropped.

It was Frank.

Frank was at the back of the bar. Why the fuck was Frank there? He couldn’t tell if he was watching him and the flashing lights prevented Gerard from getting a good look. But it was him. Gerard could pick him out of a crowd in an instant. His voice cracked but he kept singing, meeting Brendon’s eyes while he had an internal meltdown.

Frank moved to the other side of the room and Gerard lost sight of him. When they finished the song, Brendon bowed and Gerard stood there, too shocked to move. Brendon had to physically drag him off stage.

“We can do another song but you have to wait your turn,” Brendon teased.

“Frank’s here,” Gerard said dumbly.

“That’s impossible.” Brendon scowled and glanced around the room. “Why would he be here?” 

“I dunno.” Had it been Frank or was Gerard imagining things? He had to know. He bolted like a man on a mission and Brendon scrambled to follow. The place was busy. People everywhere. In clusters, drinking, getting in his fucking way. He stopped suddenly, his gut telling him to turn right.

Frank was sitting at a table close to the wall. At first glance, Gerard missed him because there was a girl in his lap. A girl with long blonde hair, who had her skinny arms around Frank’s neck and her tongue down his throat. Gerard froze. It was Frank and he was sucking face with a hot girl, both hands on her ass.

“Gee, c’mon.” Brendon tugged at his shoulders but he didn’t budge. Lead legs and a heavy heart. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He wavered on his feet. This was not his life. This was not happening. 

The girl threw her head back to laugh and Frank glanced in his direction. They locked eyes. Frank was either shocked or doing a good job faking it. But it couldn’t be a coincidence. Had someone set him up? Had Frank set this up? Frank’s expression turned to pity and Gerard nearly sank to his knees. He desperately wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A long moment passed before Gerard snapped to action. It sent Frank scrambling to get the girl off his lap as Gerard fled.

Tears stabbed at his eyes. Frantic, he shoved left and right, trying to find a way out. He felt like a caged animal that had escaped its pen, only to be trapped in the zoo. Someone slammed into him and his shoulder bumped a waitress carrying a tray of drinks. Doused him in booze. He stammered an apology and stumbled away, now dripping wet with alcohol. He found a dark hallway that led to a bathroom. He didn’t care if it was the men’s or not—his t-shirt was soaked with beer and he had to get it off.

He peeled it over his head, grimacing as the material slopped against his face. The smell hit him hard. He cursed and tossed it in the sink, rinsing it out with unnecessary force. Hands shaking, he shut off the tap and squeezed out the water. His t-shirt was sopping wet. What was he supposed to do now?

He turned around so he couldn’t see his sorry face in the mirror and covered his eyes with his hand. They were wet with hot tears and it was increasingly hard to breathe. He started hyperventilating. There were actual pains in his chest and he wondered if twenty-eight wasn’t too young to have a heart attack.

The door opened and his head snapped up, arms reflexively covering his bare chest. But it was Brendon—thank god. He sagged against the sink as Brendon babbled at him—shit was going down, someone was paying the bill, no one knew what was going on, someone had stopped Frank from chasing after him—it was all a blur. Brendon slipped off his own t-shirt and handed it to Gerard, urging him to put it on as he zipped up his hoody. Instead of completely losing it, Gerard listened to Brendon’s voice and focussed on his instructions.

Brendon had to physically escort him out. They followed the hallway back to the restaurant area, around the bar, and then straight out the front doors.

At the first touch of cool air, Gerard started to shake. Right away, Mikey was there, bundling him up in his leather jacket. Someone shouted—a group of people had gathered in the parking lot. Frank was among them. He called out Gerard’s name and Mikey’s head snapped in his direction, taking off like a shot. Without thinking, Gerard followed him. People were holding Frank back as he started yelling. He got closer and when their eyes met Gerard lost it.

As he sobbed into his hands, Brendon pulled him back and away from the brawl that had broken out. He was shaking and crying uncontrollably. Brendon hugged him, petting his hair over and over. “Can we please go?” Gerard stuttered into Brendon’s neck. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Yeah, we’re going, Gee. There’s just—urgh.” Brendon said, frustrated. “They’re all over by the car. Your brother’s trying to commit homicide.” Gerard made a wet noise. “It’s okay, Ray’s got it under control. Ah, shit,” Brendon muttered. “Ray does not have it under control. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

Brendon ran off, his sneakers crunching across the remains of the last snowfall and the wet pavement. Gerard collapsed back against the cold brick and sunk into a crouch. He put his face in his hands and the tears kept coming. He didn’t have the strength to fight it. He’d been fooling himself to think he’d been through the worst of it. That he was getting better, moving on and getting over Frank. Everything he’d pushed down had shot straight to the surface and now it was going to kill him.

Well, he’d wanted closure—ask and ye shall receive.

Someone knelt beside him. Fingers with long nails slowly carded through his hair. He could smell Vickie’s perfume but he didn’t look up and she didn’t say a word. He must have been in a state if she wasn’t using the opportunity to taunt him.

Eventually, the shouting stopped and Mikey was at his side. He pulled him right up into a hug, saying sorry over and over again into Gerard’s hair. “Did you know?” Gerard pushed him away. “Did you guys plan this?” Gerard sniffled and wiped his face.

“No!” Mikey said empathically. “Gee, no way. I would never pull something like this, you know that.” Mikey looked at the ground. “Ray said something—I think he mentioned it to Shaun, that we’d be here, but he didn’t do it on purpose. He didn’t know Shaun would tell Frank and Frank would be a dick about it.”

Gerard looked across the parking lot but the crowd had dispersed. Ray was maneuvering Frank into the backseat of his car. “Did you hit him?”

“I tried.” Mikey rubbed at his knuckles and Vickie gave him a look. “It’s a lot fucking harder to punch someone in real life than it is in the movies. He’s short and jumpy.” Mikey glanced back at the cars. “C’mon. We can go now. Ray’s got the idiot in the back of his car.” 

Gerard folded his arms across his chest and walked steadily, watching Ray’s car out of the corner of his eye for movement. Ray leaned against the hood, a pained look on his face. He jogged out to hug Gerard when he got close, apologizing over and over.

“It’s not your fault. I’m not mad at you.” Gerard let him go. “I know you wouldn’t pull shit like this on purpose.” 

“I would never.” Ray shook his head fervently.

Mikey walked Vickie to her car. Ray hopped into his and as Gerard passed by, he dared a glance in the back. Frank’s shoulders were pinched up to his ears and he had a dirty scowl on his face. When he caught Gerard looking, the expression slid off his face into something sad and beseeching. 

Gerard nearly crumpled right there. He hadn’t seen Frank in over a month and the sight of his face hit Gerard like a punch to the gut. He felt compelled to hop in the back seat beside him, pull him into his arms. But that didn’t last long. After everything Frank had put him through, the hurt came bubbling up and overwhelmed him. Gerard blinked, scrambling to catch up with Mikey and Brendon a few rows down the lot.

He shouldn’t have rushed, however. Gerard watched over his shoulder as Ray drove away, his thoughts on Frank’s sad eyes instead of where he was walking. One step on an icy patch and suddenly, his feet were out from under him and he was staring up at the night sky. Fuck his life. He struggled to sit up. No lumps on his head but his ass hurt. His pride, a little more. When he tried to stand, a sharp pain flared through his right wrist. He hissed in pain and slumped back.

“Shit—Gee, are you okay?” Mikey called back.

“No—fuck!” When Gerard moved his wrist it hurt like a motherfucker. “My fucking wrist. This is all I fucking need right now.” It didn’t bend under his will and it burned like it was on fire. He couldn’t stop the hurt and anger flooding out. “Why? Why can’t I get a fucking break? Have I not been punished enough? I can’t do this shit anymore.” Gerard cried freely as fucking miserable as ever. _Happy Fucking Birthday._

Mikey hugged him but it didn’t help. It took both Mikey and Brendon to heft him up to standing. They waited in sombre silence as Gerard caught his breath and tried to calm down. Finally, he muttered, “My wrist—I don’t think I can drive.” He handed Brendon his keys and Mikey helped him into the passenger seat. “I think I have to go to the hospital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, I know. Please don't hate me! Frank and Gerard will get a happy ending, I promise you that. It's just going to take some time. xx


	22. Bad Cover Version

His wrist was fucked. Orange had a hospital with an ER, but Gerard insisted on going back to Newark so he could go to St. Michael’s. It was at least familiar and his family doctor was there.

Brendon pulled into the lot adjacent to the hospital and Gerard’s arm hurt so much he didn’t even blink at the exorbitant parking rate. When Brendon and Mikey escorted him inside, they were stony-faced, one on either side like they were his bodyguards. Even his fingers were swollen so he let Mikey fill out the forms at the check-in. He knew it looked bad when Mikey put on his most serious face and didn’t attempt to flirt with the cute receptionist. 

They move to the waiting area and Brendon sat too close. He kept giving Gerard guilty glances and asking him if he needed anything. 

“I’m fine,” Gerard replied quietly. “It’s not like I’m dying.”

Eventually, his cell phone started ringing. The receptionist gave him a dirty look and he struggled to get it out of his jacket. Mikey stilled him and pulled it out. He flicked the ringer off without flipping it open and shoved it into his pocket without a word. Gerard was grateful.

In less than an hour, a nurse called his name. Mikey and Brendon tried to accompany him but he insisted on going in alone. Having your brother hold your hand in the doctor’s office was a bit much, even for him.

The doctor arrived with a warm smile. There was a tiny yellow smiley face sticker on his name tag that read ‘Dr. Smith’. He was loose and relaxed and his demeanour suggested he worked with children. Gerard breathed in and tried to absorb some of Dr. Smith’s vibe as he explained the ice and the fall.

The doctor side-eyed him. “Were you drinking?”

“I don’t drink,” Gerard said flatly, pulling his arm closer to his chest.

“Not judging,” the doctor said lightly. “It’s helpful information.”

“Yeah, right,” Gerard muttered and Dr. Smith raised his brows. “If I smell like a brewery it’s because I ran into a tray of beer. I’m a recovered alcoholic. If I had been drinking a broken arm would be the least of my problems.” 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry.” His eyes were sharp with conviction. Aquamarine blue. And kind of distracting. The doctor cleared his throat and continued, “If you had been drinking, the injury might not have been as bad.” Gerard looked at him curiously. “Drunk people don’t tense the same way. They have bad reflexes so if they fall, their bodies don’t react to prevent it.”

Gerard nodded at the file folder on the counter. “Did you read my file?”

The doctor shook his head. “That’s just the intake form. Have you been a patient here before?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said grimly. “You should read my file.”

“I will.” The doctor pulled something out of his pocket. “Does anything else hurt? Did you hit your head?”

Gerard shook his head slowly. “Um, I’m not sure. I don’t think so but it happened so fast.”

The doctor clicked a penlight and shined it directly into Gerard’s eyes. First the left, then the right, and then a bunch of rapid clicks and flashes. The light blinded him and left him blinking bright spots from his vision.

“Can I look at your arm?”

He helped Gerard get his jacket off as Gerard cradled his arm to his chest. With gritted teeth, he lowered it, offering it up to be poked and prodded. Then he held his breath. While he anticipated the pain, he still flinched when Dr. Smith pressed his fingertips against his wrist to check his pulse. His actions were gentle but it hurt enough that Gerard’s eyes watered.

“Wiggle your fingers for me?” He squeezed them. “Can you feel that?”

Gerard had a joke about holding hands on the first date on the tip of his tongue but Dr. Smith looked like he played racquetball and had a doting wife and kids at home so Gerard kept his wisecrack to himself. Instead, he nodded as the doctor worked across his fingers, one by one.

He apologized as he felt up the entirety of Gerard’s arm seeking out the spots where it hurt the most. Gerard hissed when his wandering fingers hit his wrist.

“I broke it before. When I was seventeen. They put a bunch of screws in it.”

Dr. Smith touched the area more tenderly. “That could be adding to the swelling.”

Gerard brushed his hair from his eyes. “Do you need to amputate?”

The doctor had a twinkle in his eye when he said he could probably keep the arm. 

“Do you think it’s broken?”

“I think we need to do an x-ray and go from there.” He scribbled something on a form and told Gerard to go to the third floor for an x-ray. Afterwards, he’d see him back in the ER for the results.

The doctor held the door open for him as he walked out. Mikey and Brendon called out from down the hall and Dr. Smith gave him a wink before strolling off in the other direction. 

“Gee!”—“What did he say?”—“Is it broken?”—“Are you going to be okay?”

With a straight face, he replied, “It’s a lost cause. They have to amputate.”

Brendon paled and for a moment he looked absolutely horrified. Then Mikey called Gerard an ass and Brendon’s panic turned into an epic eye roll.

“I have to get an x-ray.”

Mikey and Brendon crowded his space and followed him to radiology. The x-ray process was quick and Gerard couldn’t wait to get away from the nurse. She had an iron grip, squeezing his arm too tight. He used humour to hide the excruciating pain. When she draped him in a protective lead sheet, he joked that she’d forgotten to ask him if was pregnant. She didn’t even crack a smile—gave him a flat look and ordered him not to move. 

He preferred the bedside manner of Dr. Smith to the radiology department so he was relieved to return to the ER. Another hour passed before he got called back. Mikey spent the time texting while Brendon alternated between eating M&M’s and giving Gerard worried looks. In his good hand he nursed a paper cup of coffee so watered down it could only have come from a vending machine. 

The ache in his arm was substantial. It throbbed whenever he moved. But the pain in his wrist was nothing compared to the pain in his heart. He replayed the night’s events over and over again in his head.

“Aw, shit,” Gerard mumbled. “How’s my face?”

Mikey looked. “Still your face. Why?”

“Don’t I have eyeliner all over? Do I look like a raccoon?”

Brendon caught Gerard’s chin in his fingers and swivelled Gerard’s head around for a closer look. After a moment, he said, “It’s a bit smudgy, but in a sexy, smouldering way.” Brendon nudged his shoulder. “Why? Do you have a hot doctor?”

Gerard used his practiced smile, the one with teeth. “Maybe?”

“Good.” Brendon nodded his head. “You go, girl.”

“Not to get laid—I don’t want to look like a freak in front of him.”

Mikey gave Gerard a sympathetic look and patted his knee with the hand not clutching his phone.

Exhaustion overcame him and he dozed off on Mikey’s shoulder. When he was called back for the results of the x-ray, it was hard to stand. He shuffled after the nurse, impatient to get it over with and go home. He shimmied onto the examination table, supporting his arm—and waited, nostalgic for the days when you could smoke in hospitals. He could use a cigarette right now.

The doctor breezed in like a warm summer wind. He was goddamned bright and alert for the middle of the night. “What time is it, for you?” Gerard asked. “Like, when did you start your shift? You’re fucking cheery for it being the middle of the night.”

“Um, yeah.” The doctor tucked the x-rays into a board and turned to Gerard. “I’ve been on shift for a few hours so I guess it is morning for me. Although I’m not really a morning person.”

“Me neither,” Gerard said emphatically. The doctor flashed him a smile before he flicked a light on to reveal the inner workings of Gerard’s arm. “So, about your arm…” He explained the problem with a bunch of meaningless medical jargon that had Gerard’s eyes glazing over.

“Sorry,” the doctor said, “It’s broken.” 

Gerard tried not to panic. The first time he’d broken it had been hell. The agony of surgery and screws and an ugly cast. How he couldn’t draw or paint for months. The sheer pain from lifting a pencil. The way his hand trembled when he tried to make a fist. The fact that he stopped caring about anything at all. And that was with all the drugs he could ever want. This time, he wouldn’t have the option of drinking or doping the pain away.

Dr. Smith put a hand on his shoulder, startling him. “The fracture is minor. It likely won’t need surgery. For a break, it’s a good one to have.” As the words breezed by, Gerard nodded out of habit. 

A nurse walked into the room with a tiny bottle and Dr. Smith caught his laser-sharp stare. “It’s a general anesthetic. It’ll numb the area around the break so it won’t be as painful when we put a cast on.” 

Gerard stopped listening to the doctor to watch the nurse prepare a syringe. When the doctor left the room, the nurse edged closer to him and Gerard asked if he could lay down. The nurse smirked like it had been a joke and quickly swabbed his arm with a wet cotton ball.

“No, seriously.” Gerard shuffled around trying to get himself horizontal while still holding on to his arm. The nurse gripped his upper arm tightly and told Gerard to relax.

“Don’t worry—it’ll be over in an instant.”

“No, it’s just”—The moment the needle pierced his skin, everything went black.

When he came to, he was sprawled on the floor, with Dr. Smith crouched beside him wearing a frown. “I’m fine,” Gerard muttered. “I tried to tell him.” 

“Sorry,” the nurse said with a guilty look on his face. “I didn’t think he’d faint.”

Dr. Smith helped him up, mindful of his arm. Once Gerard was settled on the exam table, the doctor motioned with his head for the nurse to follow him out. When he returned, he was accompanied by a different nurse.

“Aw, shit. He didn’t get into trouble, did he?” Gerard said with feeling. “It’s my fault—I’m a wuss with needles.”

“Don’t worry about him. This is Evelyn. She’s going to help me out with your cast.”

The rest of the process went by without a hitch. His medical coverage from the school was generous enough to allow him a fibreglass cast that he could bathe in. The nurse’s eyebrows shot up when Gerard picked a bright pink colour but Dr. Smith just chuckled. When the nurse left, Dr. Smith mentioned painkillers and Gerard’s stomach turned. 

“Don’t worry—I found your file. No opioids, I promise.” He scribbled a prescription on a pad and handed it to Gerard. He couldn’t read the writing, but he chose to trust it. Dr. Smith looked away. “Tell your boyfriend there’s nothing to worry about.”

“My boyfriend?” Gerard stuttered, mouth agape. Dr. Smith shrugged and gave him a questioning look. Gerard quickly reassessed his impression of the good doctor. “Are you fishing?” Gerard tapped his fingers on the exam table. “Or are you assuming I’m gay because I wanted a pink cast?”

Dr. Smith cocked his head and wiggled a finger at Gerard’s t-shirt.

“Huh?” Gerard looked down and realized he was wearing Brendon’s _‘I’m not gay but my boyfriend is’_ novelty t-shirt. “Oh, shit!” Gerard barked out a laugh.

“Yeah, that. And I saw the two guys you came in with. They both looked pretty upset.”

The doctor smiled all-too-casually and Gerard’s posture loosened up. “Which one do you think is my boyfriend?” Gerard asked with amusement.

“I’m going to say the taller one with the emo hair. The other one doesn’t look legal.”

“Emo hair.” Gerard snickered. “That’s Mikey. He’s my brother and our mom cuts his hair—she’s a hairdresser.” Dr. Smith grimaced. “The other one’s Brendon. He’s turning eighteen in a few days but he’s not my boyfriend. This is his gay t-shirt and I’m only wearing it because mine got doused in beer.”

“Oh.” The doctor squirmed as he worked out what to say next. “That’s cool. Sorry for, you know, making assumptions or whatnot.”

“It’s okay. I am gay,” Gerard said finally. “And single, if you were—you know—fishing?”

The doctor’s cheeks coloured. “In that case, can I give you my number? Maybe we could go out sometime?”

"Are you allowed to ask out patients? Isn't that unprofessional?"

"I’m a doctor, not a monk. Besides, I'm not _your_ doctor,” he said pointedly. 

Gerard sighed. He wasn’t ready. Dating. A relationship. Someone to break his heart. “I’m not in the market for a relationship right now.”

“Who said anything about a relationship?”

*

Before Gerard fell into bed to sleep off his horrible birthday, he made sure the cordless was back in its cradle in the kitchen with the ringer on low. Thankfully, Mikey still had his cell phone. And he hated doing it, but he popped a couple of Tylenol to ease the throbbing in his wrist. The pain would keep him awake and right now sleep was vital for stabilizing his mental state.

The next morning he woke not feeling rested but at least clear-headed enough to get out of bed. Showering was going to be a chore. His skin still smelled faintly of booze but he decided he needed coffee before tackling anything more complicated than taking a leak. Even using his opposite hand to hold his dick felt awkward.

The rich scent of coffee wafted from the kitchen. Mikey and Brendon were at the dining table and abruptly stopped talking when Gerard entered. They fixed their eyes on him cautiously.

“I know you were talking about me. Don’t stop on my account,” Gerard said as he went straight for the coffee machine.

“Kind of,” Mikey said. “We’re trying to figure out what to do about”—he was cut off by the soft sound of the house phone ringing—“That,” he finished flatly.

Gerard took a sip of coffee as they all stared at the blinking red light on the phone. It stopped and then a few seconds later started ringing again. The noise was incessant. 

“How long has it been ringing”

“Twenty minutes?” Mikey replied. “When I answered it, he hung up.”

Gerard set his coffee down and snatched up the phone with his good hand.

“Gerard, wait.” Mikey stood and reached for the phone but Gerard waved his casted arm around to fend him off. Gerard hit the answer button and firmly said, “Stop calling,” before hanging up. When it rang again, it broke Gerard’s patience and he was flooded with rage. 

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve by harassing me but I do know how to file a restraining order.”

“Um, I’m sorry,” Frank croaked. “Can I explain?”

“No,” Gerard said forcefully. “There’s nothing to explain. We’re done. You made that quite clear.”

“One minute. _Please_.”

“Nothing you can say will change anything.”

“I’m sorry, I know, just—fuck—please, Gerard, I swear to God, I didn’t know you were gonna be at that stupid club last night.” Frank spit his words out rapidly as though Gerard would hold him to his one minute. “Shaun brought me there, he ditched me at the bar and then he disappeared. He didn’t say a word about you being there. He set the whole thing up and I had no idea. It’s all his fault.”

“Shaun set you up with that blonde, too?” Gerard snapped.

“Shit.” Frank groaned. “You saw all that?”

“You sucking face with her?” Gerard said. “Yeah, I saw that. You put on quite a show. If your goal was to ruin my night, well, great fucking job.”

“Oh, fuck, Gee. I don’t even know her. When I couldn’t find Shaun I went out to smoke and met her in the parking lot. She was a fan of the band and I was just trying to find a ride home.”

“With your tongue? I thought you didn’t do groupies.” Gerard realized he was shouting and took a moment to calm down. “You know what? I don’t even care about the fucking girl. You dumped me, remember? You’re free to fuck your way down the East Coast if that’s what you want.”

“That’s not what I want. I want to apologize.”

“Well, you’ve apologized. I don’t forgive you and I don’t want to hear from you again. It’s over. Stop calling. Don’t make me change my number.”

“Hold on, hold on—Shaun wants to talk to you.” Gerard rolled his eyes and took a breath as he contemplated hanging up the phone. In a muffled voice, Shaun told Frank to go take a shower and then a door closed. “Gerard, hi. I just wanted to say sorry.”

“Great. That it?”

“No, I mean I’m really sorry about what happened last night. What Frank said was true—I didn’t tell him you were going to be there. I thought, well, he’d been working himself up to call you since we got back but he was scared”—

“Look, Shaun, I don’t care.”

“I’m not making excuses for him”—

“That’s exactly what you’re doing. Frank’s an adult. He made his own decisions.”

“I’m not saying you should take him back—I’m not even saying forgive him, I just thought you deserved the truth. I shouldn’t have involved.”

“I hope this means you’ll all leave me alone now.”

“Fuck, yeah—Hambone—sorry about that. I ‘spose it makes sense now, why we keep this stuff to ourselves.”

“You all need to grow up. I teach high school kids more mature than your band.”

“Fair enough,” Shaun said lightly. “We’re flying to LA tonight so you don’t have to worry about any of us getting in your face again. I’m sorry everything got so messed up. You know we only came back to Jersey because Frank wanted to see you—talk to you face-to-face”—

“Shaun,” Gerard warned, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Right. Sorry, sorry. Okay. Take care, Gerard.”

Gerard hung up the phone, shoulders sagging.

“Hey, Gee.” Mikey pulled him into a hug and Gerard went stiffly. He was still tired and felt hollow like someone had scooped out his insides and replaced them with cotton. Dull and lifeless. Even the pain in his wrist was distant and subdued. Maybe he wouldn’t need to fill his prescription for pain meds at all. “You did good. How do you feel?”

“I dunno.” Gerard sagged against Mikey’s shoulder. “I mean, I kind of want to yell at him some more. But otherwise, okay, I guess. I’d really like to finish my coffee.”

*

They celebrated Brendon’s actual birthday with pizza, cake, and video games. Well, Mikey and Brendon played Halo while Gerard watched. Moving his fingers that rapidly was too much. Sent his wrist screaming in agony. Instead, he sat on the floor and let the kittens climb all over him and use his lap as a jungle gym. They had plenty of toys—tiny stuffed mice and foam balls Gerard tripped on at night—but were more interested in biting Gerard’s fingers with their needle-sharp teeth.

Yesterday, he’d been at the hospital for more x-rays. The past injury to Gerard’s wrist was a concern so his doctor had referred him to an orthopaedic surgeon. The idea of surgery freaked him out and his wrist throbbed constantly as a reminder. The worst part was, he knew one single tablet of Percocet or Xanax would take everything away. Turn him into a doped up zombie and it would feel amazing, or rather, he wouldn’t have to feel at all.

“Gee. Gerard.” Mikey nudged him with his foot when Gerard spaced out. The game was paused and Brendon was eating corn chips like it was his last meal. “How’d it go with the doctor?”

Gerard didn’t want to talk about surgery so he blurted out, “I have a date,” instead.

Whatever Brendon said was indecipherable around the half-chewed chips in his mouth. Mikey elbowed him in the stomach. “With Dr. Richardson?” he asked skeptically.

“Ew, Mikey—no.” Dr. Richardson was beyond retirement age and bore a striking resemblance to Gandalf the wizard. 

Brendon swallowed. “Dr. McHottie from the ER, right?”

“What hot ER doctor?” Mikey looked back and forth between them.

“The one with the blue eyes. He gave Gee his number for like, sex.” Brendon bounced on the couch cushions.

“You’re dating again?” Mikey shot Gerard a look and kicked him again. “How come you told him and not me?”

“I’m not _dating_ , dating. I hadn’t planned on seeing him again but I ran into him in the parking lot after my appointment.”

“I bet he was stalking you,” Brendon said with glee. “He knew you had an appointment and made sure he was there to run into you.”

“That’s creepy.” Mikey’s lip curled into a frown.

“It’s romantic,” Brendon retorted.

“I don’t think he planned it.” Gerard shook his head. “He had blood all over his clothes. He looked like he’d had a bad day and seemed surprised to see me. All he did was walk me to my car and ask about my arm. So, I gave him my number.” Gerard gave Mikey a look and gestured with his good hand. “Am I being stupid? Is this a bad idea?”

“One step at a time, Gee.”

“I mean, I told him straight-out that I don’t want a relationship or anything. Sex only.” Gerard continued, “I’m so over jerking off with my left hand. It fucking sucks.”

Brendon snickered and Mikey rolled his eyes like that was too much information. Gerard huffed, suddenly full of jitters. “I’m gonna get the cake.”

“There’s cake?” Brendon shot up like a prairie dog.

“Of course, there’s cake.” Gerard poked Mikey with a socked foot. “Mikey, come help me.”

He got the cake out of the fridge and as he set it down, caught his fingers on the edge of the countertop. The contact was enough to shoot pain through his wrist. Mikey came in as he was bent over, taking quick breaths and trying not to pass out.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Gerard called out when Mikey rushed to his side. He righted himself and took a deep breath before digging through the junk drawer for candles. Mikey helped him count out eighteen in mismatched colours and patterns. He even found some mini sparklers. 

The cake was white with vanilla icing—Brendon’s choice. He’d had to pry it out of him. Brendon thought he was boring to want a plain cake but Gerard bought Vanilla Bean Hagen Das to go with it. The cake had rainbow sprinkles around the edges and ‘Happy Birthday Brendon’ spelled out on top in luminous yellow. Gerard insisted on lighting the candles himself so he could practice flicking his lighter with his left hand.

Mikey carried the cake out, dodging sparks as he placed it on the coffee table before Brendon’s awestruck eyes. When they sang, Brendon got teary and Gerard wanted to cry too. 

What the hell was wrong with Brendon’s parents? Their son had turned eighteen and they hadn’t even called. Gerard had fucked his entire life up and his parents had never given up on him. All Brendon wanted was to be himself. How could they fault him for that?

Brendon extinguished the candles in one blow. Mikey tried to wheedle him into revealing his wish, but Brendon smirked and said, “Hell no,” as he swiped a finger through the icing on the cake, making a show of licking it off. 

They gorged themselves on sugar and later when they gave Brendon his gift, he really did cry. “You guys—what?” He shook his head like he didn’t know where to look. “I don’t need a present. You let me live here for free. That’s more than enough. I don’t need anything else.” 

“Eighteen is a big deal and we wanted to get you something.” Gerard gave Brendon a nudge. He hesitated before peeling back the glittery wrapping. Before the paper was all off his eyes went wide, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “Are you frigging kidding me?” 

It was an electric keyboard. And a set of headphones so they wouldn’t have to listen to him practicing in the wee hours. Brendon tackled them both on the sofa, hugging them in thanks. As shitty as the last few days had been, at that moment, Gerard felt nothing but love and warmth in his heart.

*

The doctor had promised Gerard a casual dinner. Turned out, they had opposing definitions of casual—Gerard was out of his fucking league. And what happened to no-strings sex?

Gerard found the address easily. A tall luxury condo complex surrounded by well-groomed bushes and garish floodlights. It was alarmingly close to the hospital. The emergency room sign could be seen from the front entrance. Gerard cringed as an ambulance blew by, sirens blazing. Talk about a short commute.

The glass on the front doors was streak-free and the lobby looked like a hotel. There was an elegant sitting area with boxy brown-leather sofas and an array of tropical plants. A crystal chandelier hung on the sculpted ivory ceiling. The concierge was an older gentleman dressed in a crisp black suit. He watched Gerard over the top of his thick eyeglasses.

“I’m here to see, um shit,” he stuttered. He didn’t know the doctor’s first name. “Sorry. Dr. Smith in sixteen-oh-five?” 

“Delivery, yes?”

“No, visiting… Dr. Smith.”

“Okay, okay.” He gave him a curt nod and gestured at the elevator. He moved quickly for an old man. Gerard thanked him as he swiped a keycard and hit the button for the sixteen floor. Doors closing, the man said, “Hey, mister.” He pointed at his eye and then at Gerard. “I watch you.” Gerard waited until the doors had closed to let out a chuckle.

As the elevator shot up, he inspected his hair in the mirrored wall. The black had been a drastic change. He wasn’t used to it yet but he had to admit the shorter cut was stylish. His students had teased him mercilessly. Maybe he was a hot teacher. 

The doors dinged open and the hallway smelled new. Not clean, but like plastic or a freshly unwrapped DVD. He followed the beige carpet to number sixteen-oh-five and took a deep breath. After two raps, it swung open. 

“Your doorman thinks I’m a criminal,” Gerard drawled out.

“Ernesto? Nah, he’s cool.” 

They made a few indecisive movements before settling on an awkward one-armed hug. The doctor stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

“Not going to invite me in?”

“I made dinner reservations—I hope that’s okay? I haven’t had a Saturday night off in months. I rarely have the time to go out and eat in a real restaurant.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Gerard had assumed they’d order in or at the very least get take out. The neighbouring streets were littered with ethnic hole-in-the-walls and grungy pubs touting the best fish and chips in New Jersey. He panicked a little when it occurred to him that none of them would require a reservation.

They were in the elevator when Gerard busted out his burning question. “Um, this is awkward, but what’s your name? Your first name? You never told me.”

He laughed, blue eyes twinkling. “Spencer.” He motioned for Gerard to follow him out to the parking garage. “What have you been calling me in your head? Dr. Smith? Or just doctor?” He leered at Gerard as he led him to a white Prius. “You can still call me doctor if you want to.”

“Kinky.” Gerard tried not to smile too hard. “Where are we going that we need to drive?”

“Don’t worry.” Spencer opened the passenger door and Gerard slid in. “Nothing fancy, it’s just the place can get busy on Saturday nights.” The car door closed and Gerard frowned as he inspected his jeans for holes or stains. Not fancy. Easy for Spencer to say in his blazer and ironed slacks while Gerard sat there in an old t-shirt and scuffed combat boots.

But dinner was nice. The restaurant wasn’t lavish but it was a steakhouse. Gerard had an internal debate over whether or not to tell Spencer he was a vegetarian. In the name of honesty, he did. 

“Oh geez, I’m so sorry, I should have asked.” Spencer’s face went red and he shot his eyes around the room like he was seeing it for the first time. “I’m messing this up already.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Gerard flapped a hand at him and opened the menu preparing to concoct a meal entirely of side dishes. He was grateful when Spencer declined the wine list and ordered sparkling water without making a big deal out of it.

They talked about work and their families. When Spencer mentioned how hard it was to make friends outside of the hospital, he said it hesitantly like it was a confession and Gerard’s heart softened a little. Then Spencer brought up Gerard’s ‘no relationship’ clause and Gerard may have lost himself in a rant about trust and how bullshit the idea of romance was.

No way was he getting laid now.

But Spencer drove them back to his condo anyway and said, “You want to come up?” as he fumbled to pull his car keys from the ignition. “I have a great view of the bay.” When he touched Gerard’s thigh, it was a welcomed surprise. Maybe Spencer was just that desperate. Or perhaps Gerard had hypnotized Spencer with his erratic hand gestures? Either way, Gerard was game. He slipped his hand over Spencer’s and directed it over his crotch in reply.

The journey from the car and up to Spencer’s place was quiet and rife with sexual tension. Gerard silently assessed his expectations, stealing glances at Spencer’s tall, strong body and his piercing blue eyes. He may have been coy about inviting him in but he didn’t look nervous at all.

When Gerard saw the inside of his condo he was in awe. An open loft, clean and stylish. Spencer motioned for Gerard to continue in as he hung up their coats. “Can I get you a drink? Soda, fruit juice, Perrier.”

“Fizzy water sounds good.”

Spencer went to the kitchen area as Gerard scoped out the rest of the room. It was the work of an interior decorator, for sure. If it weren’t for the family photos on the bookcase and the random pieces of sports memorabilia it could be a magazine spread. More interesting were the art pieces on the wall. The styles were mismatched and didn’t fit in with either each other or the decor in the rest of the room. Gerard’s eyes lingered and he wandered in for a closer look. 

“It’s a work in progress,” Spencer explained as he handed Gerard his drink. They clinked glasses. Bubbles fizzed up Gerard’s nose, irritating his eyes as he took a sip. Spencer continued, “The place came furnished and my aunt has been helping me decorate. She fancies herself an art critic but I buy what I like. I don’t care who the artist is or if it’s worth collecting. Some stuff speaks to me, you know?”

Gerard nodded. Dear God, did he know.

An awkwardness settled in the air. Spencer motioned with his glass. “Wanna go outside?” 

The view from the balcony was incredible. City lights twinkled below and at that height, all the sounds blended in a low, mesmerizing hum. There was a chill in the air and after a few silent minutes, Gerard shivered. 

Spencer moved in behind him and rubbed his arms. His hands were firm and warm and he was especially mindful of Gerard’s cast. Gerard bristled and forced himself to relax against Spencer’s broad chest. There was enough of a height difference that when he turned around he had to push up on his toes to kiss him. It surprised Spencer but once he caught on, he craned his neck to meet Gerard in the middle. Spencer kissed with confidence. He held onto the back of Gerard’s neck as he slipped his tongue into Gerard’s mouth and kissed him like he had been waiting for it all night.

When things heated up, Spencer led them back inside and up a narrow staircase. The bedroom overlooked the rest of the unit and Gerard got dizzy peering over the edge. The sight of the large open area hollowed out his stomach so he turned around.

Spencer grinned and pulled him towards the bed. Gerard’s heart pounded as his dick hardened in his jeans. Flashes of Frank interrupted his thoughts but he pushed them away as they stripped their clothes off in the dark. It wasn’t until they were both naked and climbing onto the bed when Spencer flicked a lamp on. The first thing Gerard saw was the large painting hanging over the headboard. 

He burst out laughing—he couldn’t help himself. He rolled onto his back, his cast thumping against his chest as he cackled. Spencer shot up and stared down at him like he’d lost the plot.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Gerard flapped his hand around as he caught his breath. “Do you ever feel like the universe is fucking with you?"

Spencer frowned. “That’s hardly an appropriate reaction to getting naked with someone for the first time.”

With the index finger of his good hand, he pointed at the painting without looking at it and casually said, “Nice painting.”

“So, you _are_ into art.”

“You could say that, yeah.” Gerard brushed his hair from his eyes and tried to contain his smile. “Where’d you get it?”

Spencer gave into his confusion and sprawled out beside Gerard, his naked body on display. “It’s a New Jersey artist—I got it here in the city. My aunt tried to talk me out of it, but as soon as I saw it, I wanted it. I know it’s creepy but there's something soothing about it. The expression on the kid’s face. I dunno… it’s mesmerizing.” He shrugged a naked shoulder. “Sorry, I don’t know how to properly talk about art.”

“You’re cute.” Gerard rolled over and gave Spencer a chaste kiss on the lips. He motioned upwards with his eyebrows. “I’m that kid.”

“Yeah, me too.” Spencer nodded like he understood when he clearly didn’t. “You really like it? You don’t think it’s creepy?”

Gerard pushed himself up on an elbow to look into Spencer’s eyes. “No, I mean, that's actually me in the picture. My grandmother painted it—I was her model.”

“No way.” Spencer’s eyes sparkled with disbelief. “You're fucking with me.”

Gerard laughed and shook his head. “Nope. My grandmother was an artist. I was four or five there.” Spencer hopped up on his knees, doing a double-take between Gerard and the painting as if there’d be a resemblance. Gerard shifted up beside him for a closer look. Quietly, he said, “She passed away last year.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.” Spencer touched a hand to Gerard’s face and Gerard flinched. He laid on the bed and replied, “It's life.” He reached out to squeeze Spencer’s hand and continued in a lighter tone, “It's cool. She'd find this entire situation hilarious.”

“Tell me about her?”

“Not if you want to get laid tonight.”

“So, this is still happening?” Spencer raised a brow, a hopeful expression on his face.

Gerard gave him his best smouldering look. “Oh, this is happening.” He tugged on Spencer until he was on top of Gerard, all six-feet-two of him with his laser beam eyes.

*

Gerard drove home with a giant grin plastered to his face. The sex had been good. Spencer was better at fucking than he was talking about it. He was confident in a way that was more attractive than he had a right to be. Exactly what Gerard needed. 

He wasn’t Frank and that was a good thing.

He pulled into his driveway behind Vickie’s teeny VW and spotted a figure in the shadows by the front door. His heart sped up. He stayed in the car and checked the locks, watching out of the corner of his eye for movement. There was nothing in the car to use as a weapon and with his arm in a cast, he couldn’t even throw a proper punch. Besides, this was Jersey—an assailant would likely carry a gun which was no match for him. His best option might be to duck out the passenger door and make a run for the neighbour’s house.

The person wavered and Gerard got a better look. The last person Gerard expected at two o'clock in the morning was Frank. He was sitting on the steps and huddled against the railing like it was holding him up. Gerard rubbed his eyes. It had to be a hallucination.

When Gerard got out of his car, Frank’s head snapped up. He quickly rose to his feet clutching at the railing to steady himself.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Gerard said loudly from across the driveway. He shut the car door and took two slow steps, still in disbelief.

“Gerard… Hi.” Frank flicked his eyes around apprehensivly.

It wasn't a mirage—Frank was on his fucking porch. Gerard had a strong desire to scream and shout until he woke the entire neighbourhood. Or push Frank down the stairs and into the rose bushes. But he did neither. He’d never stoop to violence (it helped to picture it sometimes) and he rather liked living in that neighbourhood.

"Frank," he said flatly, scratching at a phantom pain in his chest.

Frank put his hands up in surrender. Neither said a word for a long minute. Gerard didn’t trust himself yet. Frank stood there looking haggard and withdrawn, eyes roaming between Gerard’s face and his unsteady feet.

Gerard broke the silence. “What do you want?”

“What happened to your arm? Is it broken?” Frank chewed on his lip ring and motioned at the cast. “Does it hurt?”

“Of course, it fucking hurts.” That and every other fucking thing Frank had done to him. The heart-broken side of him wanted to tell Frank it was fine because he was fucking the doctor who fixed it, but instead, he said, “You didn't come here to ask about my arm.”

“I came to tell you how sorry I am.”

“At two in the morning? Drunk?” Frank didn’t answer. He glanced at the pavement before flashing Gerard sad eyes. “No. Fuck you. You had your say.”

“I’m not—okay, I had a bit to drink on the plane. I’m a bad flyer—I hate planes. But I needed to see you. I was gonna wait until tomorrow but I have nowhere to go. I saw a light on and I—I couldn't wait,” Frank rambled, looking more like he was going to keel over. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have shown up like this.”

“And yet, here you are.” Gerard frowned and clumsily folded his arms across his chest. 

“I was in LA. I couldn’t focus because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You have no idea how terrible I feel.” He blew at his bangs where they’d fallen over his eyes. 

“I don’t care how you feel. You treated me like garbage.” 

“Gerard, please. I spent every last penny I have on a plane ticket to come back to talk to you.”

“That’s not my problem and you need to leave. Go home. Or back to LA—I don’t care. Whatever you have to say I don’t want to hear it and I certainly have nothing to say to you.”

“I just—I have to tell you something—you have to listen to me.” He watched as Frank wavered, leaning back on the railing to keep his balance.

“Fuck you—I don’t _have_ to do anything. It’s been months, Frank. Months and now when you want to talk you expect me to listen? I don’t owe you anything.” Gerard considered going inside, shutting the door in Frank’s face and going to bed. Leave him out there to fend for himself. But let’s be honest, he’d waited a long time to give Frank a piece of his mind.

“That night—your birthday—I didn’t sleep with her. I don’t even remember her name.”

“That’s not a consolation. Actually makes you sound like an even bigger jackass.”

“That whole night—none of that should’ve happened. I knew it was your birthday. I thought that’s why Shaun dragged me out—because I was fucking sad about missing it. About missing you. That’s why I was drinking and being an asshole.”

“Well, that seems to be a pattern with you, doesn’t it?” Gerard motioned at Frank’s current state. “I only wish I’d seen it earlier.” He considered this as a wave of emotions coursed through him, fluctuating between rage and despair. “You are so fucked up. You know that, right? You’re acting like a child. I should call your mom to come and get you,” Gerard threatened.

Frank’s head shot up. “Please, please don’t call my mom.” He stumbled down the stairs and in his haste, fell into Gerard. Gerard caught his shoulders and held him upright. “I’ll go and find a park bench or something.”

It was late and while Gerard was pretty much done with the conversation, especially with Frank in this state, he didn’t have the guts to turn him away. “You can come in and sleep it off. That’s it.” Gerard grabbed his arm. “Any more talking and I’ll drive you into Branch Brook Park myself and leave you there.”

Frank leaned into him, heavy like he was about to fall over. “Whoah.”

Gerard tightened his grip. “I swear to God, Frank, if you throw up on me, you will not see the light of day.”

“M'good, m'good,” Frank muttered. “It’s not the booze—I think I ate some dairy on the plane.”

“Just shut up. I can’t even…” Gerard said tightly as he all but dragged Frank inside. He considered the sofa but after a moment of hesitation, ushered him up the stairs.

“You smell like sex.” Frank made a sour face.

“Yep, I do.”

“Gee-ee,” Frank whined. 

“Stop fucking smelling me, then,” Gerard snapped.

“I know ’s none of my business…”

Gerard said, “You’re right. It’s none of your goddamned business,” and dumped Frank onto his bed. “You can add this to the list of nights you’ve ruined for me.” When Frank hit the pillow, he groaned and curled into the fetal position. Gerard shushed him and pulled off his shoes. With a huff, he yanked the covers over him and told him to go to sleep. When Frank scrabbled for Gerard's arm, Gerard jerked out of reach.

“Gerard,” he whined into the pillow. “Please stay and talk to me.”

“No. And don’t leave my room. If Mikey sees you, he’ll kill you and cut off your balls. If you’re lucky, he’ll do it in that order.”

“He already tried—I can take your brother,” Frank muttered.

“Not if I help him. And I will,” Gerard said. “Now go to sleep.”

Gerard went into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. He had a quick shower and barely dried himself off before hopping into the pyjamas he’d left on the floor. He whipped open the medicine cabinet and took his pills for the day, washing them down with a full glass of water. He refilled the glass and dumped out a couple of aspirin for Frank. Not once did he look at his reflection in the mirror.

When he came out of the bathroom, Frank’s eyes followed his movements. “Gerard.”

“Not a fucking word.” Gerard set the aspirin and water on his bedside table with more force than necessary. Water sloshed over the side of the glass. He turned his back to Frank, flicked the light off and pulled the door shut. 

Canting into the wall, he put his face in his hands. He let out a long breath and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. This was a first—he was so angry he couldn’t even cry. But he didn’t want to be alone. Brendon’s light was on, so he tapped on the door.

Brendon was wide awake, glasses on and reading from a textbook when Gerard pushed the door open. He lowered his book as Gerard flopped onto the bed.

“Bad date?”

“Frank's here.”

“I thought you were out with Dr. McHottie?”

“His name’s Spencer. And I was.”

“Hold on—what?” Brendon sat up straight, pulling the chewed pen out of his mouth. “What do you mean, Frank’s here? Like, in the house?”

“When I got home he was on the doorstep, drunk and rambling apologies.” Gerard sighed. “I didn’t know what else to do so I put him in my bed.”

“Uh, you could’ve left him outside. Sent him home or back to the hole he crawled out of.”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“Okay, at least make him sleep on the couch?”

“Are you kidding? Mikey might actually murder him in the morning.”

“Don’cha think he deserves what he gets?” Brendon replied, ruffling Gerard’s hair. 

“He deserves it but I don’t. I’ll never hear the end of it if Mikey finds him here.” 

“Fuck, dude.”

“Yeah. Fuck me.”

“So, what happened to your date? How was it?”

“With the doctor? It was good, although he took me to a steakhouse and I broke, like, one of the cardinal rules of dating.”

“No sex on the first date?”

“We had sex. It was great.” Gerard shut his eyes. “I was referring to ‘don’t talk about your ex’ on the first date. He asked and I maybe spent most of dinner ranting about how much relationships suck.”

“And yet, you still got laid? Good for you! You’ve gotta lend me that charm of yours sometime.”

Gerard snorted into the pillow. “I’m not charming. I’m sad and pathetic.”

“Not even a little bit. You gonna sleep here?”

“Can I?” Gerard asked in a tiny voice. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, in case it’s not clear, Spencer Smith is not some sort of wunderkind, genius, doctor like Doogie Howser. I aged him up for this story even though every single other character is aged appropriately. Don’t ask me why. Once he was in there he wouldn’t go away! I’m sure there’s a universe in which Gerard and Spencer end up together. If you’re burning for an alternative ending, let me know. There’s a distinct lack of Gerard/Spencer out there. xx


	23. Like a Friend

In the morning, Gerard had a rude awakening: the radio was tuned to a top forty station and Brendon was singing along with Beyonce. When he opened his eyes, he got a full view of Brendon's ass as he slid into a pair of briefs. Gerard rolled over and yanked the duvet over his head.

“C'mon, Gee.” Brendon poked Gerard's shoulder. “Time to get up for school!” Brendon was fucking chipper. He required mere seconds to wake fully and never understood why Gerard and Mikey moved like sloths in the morning. Brendon pulled the covers down and Gerard gave him a one-eyed glare from where his face was smooshed into the pillow. “There's coffee.” He patted Gerard's head in sympathy. “You have to get rid of Frank, too.”

Fuck. Gerard groaned as he hauled himself out of bed. He heard someone retching in the hall bathroom and the toilet flushing. He closed his eyes and took a breath, pushing the anxiety out of his mind. When the door opened, Gerard expected it to be Frank, but it was Vickie. She gave him a dirty look and went downstairs.

“Was I the only person not drinking last night?” He muttered at Brendon.

“Um, hello?” Brendon said, still in his underwear.

“You don’t count—you’re not old enough to drink.”

Brendon snorted. “Doesn’t stop me from smoking dope.”

Gerard shook his head. “Okay, okay. Don’t remind me.” He glanced down the hall to where his bedroom door was closed. When he thought about going in, his heart raced. “Bren, do me a favour and make sure he didn't like, throw up in there?”

Brendon laughed. “And if he did?”

“Ugh.” Gerard groaned. “Set my room on fire.” Brendon cackled as Gerard went downstairs.

Mikey and Vickie were at the kitchen table, both expressionless. He looked back and forth between them and Mikey said it all with his narrowed eyes and pinched expression.

Gerard sighed. “Brendon told you.”

“I can get rid of him for you,” Mikey said as Vickie made a show of cracking her knuckles. Mikey stood abruptly. “After I punch his lights out.”

“Mikey, stop. Sit down,” Gerard said sternly. “I can deal with him myself.”

“Can you? Why is he even here?” Mikey crossed his arms. “I hope you’re not taking him back after everything he put you through.”

“I’m not taking him back. _Jesus_.” Gerard gave Mikey a warning look and poured himself a coffee.

“You’re too nice. You should have kicked him to the curb. It’s what he deserves.”

Gerard tuned him out, stirring in sugar and watching the cream swirl round and round, willing his stomach to settle. He had a lot of conflicting emotions. They were hitting him hard and fast, too many to focus on one. His mind was spinning faster than the spoon in his coffee. Because he wasn't a monster, he prepared a cup for Frank. Might get him out of the house faster, too.

“I hope you plan on dumping that in his lap,” Mikey called out as Gerard left.

Gerard thought it might happen by accident anyway. Carrying two mugs with the stupid cast on his arm made him clumsy but he managed not to spill. What almost did him in was Marjorie and Manon waiting for him at the top of the stairs, their expressions eerily similar to Mikey and Vickie. But cats were easy to please. All they wanted was their breakfast.

The bedroom door was wide open. Frank’s head shot up and Gerard froze. He looked horrible—face pale with bloodshot eyes and disastrous hair—slouched against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up. He couldn’t look more sorry if he tried. It was petty but Gerard hoped he was suffering. He stepped into the room with a blank face and handed Frank his coffee.

Brendon was sitting quietly at the foot of the bed, cross-legged and attempting to intimidate Frank with some shameless nudity and the glare of a guard dog. Gerard had to bit his lip to keep from being amused. “Bren, go put some clothes on.”

Brendon bounced off the bed and said, “Underwear is clothes,” before sauntering out. He greeted the cats with, “Hey, babies, has your daddy not fed you yet?” and then a cacophony of meows followed him down the hall.

Gerard didn’t close the door before taking up Brendon's spot at the foot of the bed. Frank pulled his knees up, cradling the mug between his hands. He croaked out a ‘thanks’ and stared at the mattress. For lack of words, Gerard took a drink and then carefully balanced the mug on his knee. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Or if he wanted to say anything at all.

The person sitting across from him was a stranger. If he felt anything, it was pity. The hurt was still there, obviously. It was always there, threatening to bubble up to the surface. It ebbed and flowed like ocean waves. Sometimes he could let it pass and other times it dragged him down like an anchor.

Frank cleared his throat. “When did you get a cat? And when did you dye your hair? I feel like I’m in the twilight zone.”

Gerard didn’t answer him. Questioned him instead. “Why are you here?”

“I miss you.” Frank shifted and Gerard glanced up. “And I owe you an apology.”

“It’s a little late for that. I’m not interested in hearing it. I thought I made that clear.” Gerard fiddled with his coffee cup. Every time he looked at Frank it was like a punch to the gut. “What we had is gone and I’m done crying over you. I’ve moved on.”

“Gerard… please,” Frank said quietly. “I know I messed things up. So bad. But there must be some way to make it up to you?” Frank reached across the duvet.

“Don't touch me,” Gerard snapped. “There is nothing you can do. We’re done and that’s all on you.”

“Don’t I deserve a second chance?”

“You had a second chance. You pulled the same shit after New Year’s when you hung up on me and avoided me for a week. I was stupid to think it wouldn’t happen again. I should have known.”

“You’re not stupid—I know it’s my fault,” Frank said. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“I don’t care how sorry you are.”

“We had a fight—couples have fights. Then they make up.”

“A fight?” Gerard’s reaction was physical and he nearly spilled his coffee all over the bed. He gave Frank a bewildered look. “You said every hurtful thing you could think of to drive me away. You fucking dumped me in the worst way possible. You lied to everyone and brushed me off like I was nothing. You’re delusional if you think we can just fuck and forget about it. Why would I believe anything you say? I don’t trust you. I don’t even know who you are.”

“You do.” Frank reached out again but stopped short of touching Gerard. His face was pinched like he was about to cry and it made Gerard even angrier. “You do. Sometimes I think you’re the only one who does. Everything I said—I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it.”

“Doesn’t matter now. It’s done. You fucking did say it and then left me alone with those thoughts for months. That’s not—you can’t apologize the hurt away. It’s here”—Gerard thumped his cast on his chest—“And it fucking tore a hole in my heart. You did that.”

“I know, I know. I was out of my head—said stupid shit because I was upset. I was fucked up.”

“And you're not now? You showed up on my doorstep drunk—what the fuck were you thinking? How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I wasn’t thinking—I was only thinking about you,” Frank said. “Gerard, I never meant to hurt you like that. I came back from LA because I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I hurt you.”

“No.” Gerard met Frank’s eyes. “You ran away from your band. You run away from your problems and you lie. That's what you do. This isn't about me at all. You were right about one thing: you aren’t ready for a relationship, with me or anyone else.”

“Everything is about you, Gerard. Everything. I fucking love you. I meant it before and I mean it now.”

“Shut up,” Gerard snapped. He swallowed around the tightness in his throat. “We’re not doing this.” He bit his tongue to keep from crying. As he stood, tears blurred his vision and he shook his head to clear them. “I have to go to work.” He slammed his unfinished coffee on the dresser and started digging through his closet for clothes. “You need to leave. Go back to LA and stay the fuck away from me.”

“Can we talk later?” Frank pleaded.

“No.” Gerard banged a drawer shut. “And you'd better not be here when I come out.” He retreated to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

He spent a long time under the shower spray, letting the hot water soothe his body as the noise camouflaged his crying. His skin was hot when he emerged but he didn’t feel any better. His heart was still in pieces and Frank was gone.

*

It felt like his heart had been broken all over again. It hurt, but he was also angry. Frank had no right to come back into his life and expect him to forgive and forget like it had been nothing.

Usually, painting relaxed him. Gave him something to focus on. A way to drown out the madness in his mind. He thought in colour and texture, shapes and shadows, as everything else was pushed to the side. It was a form of meditation. Art therapy was a thing for a reason.

But the painting he had before him could go fuck itself. In fact, every single drawing of Frank could burn in hell. Frank didn’t deserve to be preserved in a work of art. He started with a sketchbook, tearing pages out one-by-one and then each of those into tiny pieces. Into the air they went, fluttering to the floor like defective confetti. His wrist ached with every rip, but he kept going. Destruction was therapeutic, too.

Satisfied with the pile of scraps on the floor, he surveyed a large canvas he’d put so much work into. Now it seemed to be mocking him. Before he could change his mind, he grabbed a tube of the blackest black and mixed a squirt in some water. His hand shook as he lifted the glass, liquid poised to destroy.

Suddenly, the glass was wrenched from his grip, sooty water sloshing over his hand and onto the floor. He cursed and wiped his fingers on his pants.

“What are you doing?” Mikey held the glass out of reach with one hand and touched Gerard’s shoulder with the hand.

“Mikey.” Gerard shot him a scowl and tried to grab it. “Give it back. I’m serious.”

“I hate him more than you do but this is your art. Don’t let him take that away from you.” The sympathy written all over Mikey’s face made him want to scream.

“It’s one painting.” Gerard tried to cross his arms but failed because of the stupid cast. “I can’t look at it anymore.”

“Don’t destroy it. You’ll regret it later” Mikey plucked it from the easel and propped it face-down against the wall. “Deal with it when you’re ready.”

Gerard didn’t say anything. He continued to frown but didn’t retrieve it because Mikey was probably right. As a consolation prize, Mikey let him burn the shredded drawings over the toilet bowl. He wouldn’t leave Gerard alone, either. Said that left to his own devices he’d burn down the house.

Feet pounded up the stairs and down the hall. Brendon stopped in the doorway with a crazed look on his face. “I smell fire.”

Mikey motioned at the paper smouldering in the toilet. 

“Is this like a witchcraft-ex-boyfriend-curse kind of thing?” Brendon peered into the toilet. “We should make a voodoo doll and put itching powder down its pants. Or cut off all his hair!”

Mikey snorted. “Or cut off his dick.” 

Gerard frowned at Mikey. “No more violence.” He scratched at his hand under his cast. When he flexed his fingers he could feel the burn in his wrist.

“I’m joking.” Mikey shoved his glasses up his nose. “But he hasn’t gotten the message that you don’t want to talk to him. He can’t force his way back into your life. If he shows up again, I’m calling the police.” Gerard gave him a look. “I’m serious, Gee.”

Since his surprise visit, Gerard had spent many waking hours thinking about Frank. The thing was, despite the pain Frank had caused him, he still cared—he couldn’t deny that. And he didn’t have faith that anyone in Frank’s life would confront him about his issues. Gerard knew he couldn’t fix him—didn’t even want to try. But he could steer him in a different direction. There were also things he needed to say. He had questions that needed answers and Frank’s remorse was eating away at him.

“What if I want to talk to him.” Gerard clenched his fingers into a fist and cringed at the pain. “Maybe I need closure.”

“You are not talking to him, Gerard. He lied to you. He used your biggest insecurities against you and he made you look like an asshole to his friends. He wouldn’t even tell his mom he was dating you. You deserve better than that.”

Gerard knew better than to argue with Mikey. His anger was slowly evaporating and Mikey would never be rational about this. He’d let Vickie back into his life so many times their relationship operated like a revolving door of pain and misery. Mikey was proof people wore blinders when it came to their shortcomings. Gerard tucked two fingers under the cast and scratched.

“Gee, stop poking at that.” Mikey pulled Gerard’s hand away like he was a child.

“It fucking hurts,” he complained.

“Are you taking the painkillers the doctor gave you?”

“No,” Gerard grumbled. “I don’t want them. I like the pain.”

*

His one night stand had failed when he agreed to meet Spencer for another date. That and the fact that he referred to it as a date. A sex date. Dinner, orgasm and then home to sleep in his own bed. The thing with Spencer was working out well. Gerard did what was necessary to convince himself he was moving on.

Of course, nothing was simple. Even Spencer wanted something from him. The third time Gerard paid him a visit—they ordered in Chinese and had sex on the shag rug in the living room—Spencer asked him to stay over. Gerard was preoccupied with the burn on his shoulder (newsflash: carpet sex on the floor can lead to injury) and didn’t hear him the first time.

“Gerard—hey.” Spencer nudged him with his knee from where he laid sprawled out on his back. “You wanna stay over?” 

Gerard opened his mouth to say, ‘no’ but when he caught Spencer’s hopeful gaze, what came out was, “Um.”

Spencer deflated and touched Gerard’s shoulder gingerly. “I’ve got something for that.” He smoothly rolled up to standing and stalked to the bathroom on his long pale legs.

Gerard panicked. He chewed on a nail and mulled it over. Whether he stayed or not would send Spencer a message. Was he serious, or not? Were they friends who had casual sex or were they dating? And if they were like, seriously dating, did Spencer expect this to lead to a relationship? The idea of commitment reared its ugly head and Gerard felt the sudden urge to get dressed. 

He quickly found his underwear and as he slid them on, Spencer returned with a tube of cream. His face fell. “I guess that answers that.”

“It’s not—I like you but it’s complicated.” Gerard found his jeans under the coffee table and struggled to pull them on. “When I told you I wasn’t looking for a relationship, I meant it.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I asked you to sleep over, not marry me.” He sat on the couch and motioned for Gerard to join him. When Gerard hesitated, Spencer wiggled the tube in the air. “C’mere. At least let me put some cream on your shoulder.”

Gerard gave up buttoning his jeans and sat down, offering Spencer his shoulder. The first touch was cold as Spencer dabbed cream onto his skin. He rubbed it in slowly, fingers barely making contact as he soothed the irritated area. He moved across Gerard’s back, digging into muscle until Gerard’s skin was warm and his muscles loosened up. It felt really nice. Spencer moved both hands to massage his neck. When Gerard sighed into it, Spencer said, “I know you’re keeping me at an arm’s length for a reason. Whatever unresolved issues you’re struggling with, you can tell me. I’m a good listener.”

Instead of replying, Gerard sighed and let Spencer work his strong hands down his back. Spencer was smart and Gerard was a fucking pushover. As Spencer pressed alone Gerard’s spine, he continued, “Is this about that ex of yours? The one who jerked you around? The abusive one?” When Spencer’s fingers stilled and tightened, Gerard knew he’d flinched.

“He wasn’t abusive, I never said that,” Gerard muttered, pulling away. He turned to sit cross-legged on the couch and face Spencer.

“I dunno, lying to you, lying about you, calling you, not calling you—sounds like emotional abuse to me.”

“Things were amazing until he went away.”

“And then?”

“And then, they weren’t. Y’know it’s his fault I broke my arm in the first place.” Gerard read Spencer’s expression and clarified, “He didn’t do it. I saw him sucking face with some girl on my birthday and I was too busy crying over it to watch where I was walking. I really did slip and fall.”

“He cheated on you.”

“No, he’d already dumped me by that point but I wasn’t over it.” He offered Spencer a wan smile. “Honestly, I’m still not over it. He showed up at my house last week,” he explained, flapping his hand around. “That’s why we can’t date.” 

“Are you getting back together?”

“No.” Gerard shook his head and stopped to bite his nails. “I dunno. I don’t even want to see him right now.”

“What do you want from me?”

“What do you want from me?” Gerard countered. “I thought all you wanted was sex.”

“The sex is great—don’t get me wrong, but I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give. If you haven’t noticed, I like you. If you need more time, I can wait. Our arrangement isn’t exactly a hardship, no pun intended.”

“You might hate me.”

“I might not. We can still date and not be exclusive.”

“You have other patients you want to ask out?”

“Gerard, I have never given a patient my number before. This isn’t something I normally do.”

“Then why me?”

He threw his hands up in the air. “I dunno! You’re hot. You’re funny. There’s something different about you—in a good way. I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t at least ask. Why is it so hard to believe someone could be interested in you?”

Still chewing on a nail, Gerard shrugged and looked at the floor.

“You’re cute but you sure are high maintenance,” Spencer said lightly. It was a joke but it still stung. Gerard stood and made another attempt to do up his pants. “Look, I get it. This douchey ex did a number on you, I’ve been there. Take this for what it is: I’d like to get to know you better. If that means sex, non-exclusive dating or fuck all that and hang out as friends, I’m interested.”

Spencer was a good person and his offer was more than fair. Gerard wasn’t sure how invested he was in their future, but he liked the guy. Perhaps he could grow to love him. Before that happened though, he’d have to let Spencer get close to him and no way was he ready for that. At least he was aware of the vast boundaries he’d built around himself. Spencer was easy because he didn’t know Gerard the way that Frank did.

He was trying, though.

*

“Fuck me, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Peter drew him in for a cuddle and then kissed both of his cheeks. 

“Shut it,” Gerard complained as he wiped his face. He followed Peter to his ridiculously plush couch and collapsed into it with a sigh. Peter grabbed his lighter as he cozied up beside him.

“Want some?” Peter held out his blunt and wiggled his eyebrows. Gerard scowled and replied, “No, thank you,” as if it needed to be said. With a grin, Pete poked at Gerard’s cheeks until he smiled back.

“You remember that time we got high and took the F train all the way to Coney Island just to get Cemitas at Doña Zita’s?”

“How could I forget?” Gerard said wryly.

Peter started laughing. “You saw those fucking goth kids at Luna Park and thought they were vampires. Kept crying about how they were gonna follow us home and suck our blood dry.” Peter doubled-over as he cackled. “Then you puked on the sidewalk outside my apartment and thought it was blood. Ran inside screaming your head off.” 

“Oh my God, I came over so you could make me feel better, not relive my darker days. And while I’m sure booze played a role, I hadn’t eaten meat in ten years. I don’t know how you talked me into that shit. Any of it.”

Peter took another drag and smiled. “Good times. I miss that Gerard sometimes. Getting good and fucked up for no good reason.”

Gerard sighed because he agreed, just a little. “I miss being able to block everything out. Being a zombie wasn’t so great but it made it easy to bury shit so deep I never felt bad about anything. Old Gerard wouldn’t give a fuck about getting his heart torn to shreds.”

“Aw, buttercup, c’mere.” Peter set his blunt down to wrap his arms around Gerard and let him burrow into his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re still a clingy fucker. Faggots these days don’t know how to cuddle.” Gerard snorted and pinched Peter’s arm. “That little punk sure did a number on you. Too bad. He seemed like a decent guy.”

“He is,” Gerard said and then quickly corrected himself, “ _Was_. I don’t know what the fuck happened.”

“You’re too much for him. Got too much love to give—know what I’m saying? He’s one of those baby gays—knows he likes dick but still lives under mommy and daddy’s thumb. Knows it would break their hearts if he told them the truth.” Gerard told Peter about Frank’s mom. “Yeah, she sounds like a real peach. He probably grew up with a hole in his heart that should have been filled with unconditional love. I was like that for a long time—you know that.”

“You got through it.”

“Because I stopped giving a fuck what my parents thought. Realized it was up to me to define myself, not them. Plenty of sappy fucks like you around to make me feel good about myself.”

“I think that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Peter rolled his eyes and continued, “You’re scary Gerard. You know who you are and he’s probably been running circles to keep up with you.”

“I don’t know about that. He’s so fucking cool and confident about everything. Nothing ruffles him. He seems so sure of himself.” Gerard sighed. “I guess I used to think that. Now, though…”

“Okay, so then, what you’re saying is you fell for a prick.”

“No… I dunno. Am I really that blind? You met him—did he not seem genuine? He was good to me right from the beginning. Things didn’t go to shit until he left.”

“Are you sure about that? Cos it’s an easy act to put on.”

“Are you saying I should have seen this coming? It’s my fault?”

“It’s no one’s fault, buttercup. These things happen. Sounds like he got scared.”

“What do I do? Take him back? After everything?”

“I’m not saying that. You’re both at different places in your life. Maybe your stars simply don’t line up. Chalk it up to a life’s lesson and learn from this for the next guy.”

“I thought he was the one.”

Peter squeezed him and said, “There’s always another _one_ around the corner.”

“For you, maybe.”

“I never told you about Mr. Outback, did I?”

“No, you didn’t. Where the hell did you meet an Australian model, anyway?”

Peter laughed. “The corner of fourteenth and sixth. I was on my lunch break and he looked lost. We started chatting and when he realized he’d missed his appointment he asked me to have coffee with him. I didn’t make it back to the office—I took him back to my place and blew off work for almost a week. Told them I’d gotten food poisoning from the deli down the street.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“He was in town for some fancy meetings and a bunch of photoshoots. Six weeks we were together and let me tell you, Gerard, he was definitely the one.”

“So, what happened?”

“He asked me to go home with him—to Australia—and I said thanks for the amazing sex. Have a great life.”

“You did not.”

Peter nodded. “Can you see me living in the bush, climbing trees and wrestling kangaroos? Seriously? I couldn’t even handle that weekend at Sophie’s aunt’s place in the Hamptons. Fresh air and sandy beaches are not my thing.” 

“You didn’t even want to try?”

Peter’s face went soft. “It was for the best. It wouldn’t have worked out.”

“Did you love him?”

“I think I finally understand what people mean when they say they’ve met someone who gets them. I don’t know if it was love at first sight but from the first moment I felt like I’d known him my whole life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry enough for a rebound fuck?” Peter waggled his eyebrows and ran a hand up Gerard’s thigh. “If you’re interested, I wouldn’t say no.”

“I’m past that already.” Gerard flapped his working hand in the air. “I’ve been seeing this guy—a doctor. He’s a bit older and really nice.”

“Of course you have, Casanova.”

“We’re just fucking. I don’t think it’s anything serious.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re clearly pretty messed up over Frank.” 

Gerard bristled at his name and Peter noticed the tears building in Gerard’s eyes. “C’mon, c’mon. Things’ll get better—I promise. Let’s order pizza and watch some trashy TV. I’ll even let you get your blasphemous pineapple on it.”

*

It was a Saturday afternoon. Gerard stubbed his toe while hauling grocery bags into the kitchen and let out a string of curses. The answering machine was blinking, so he hit the replay button, thinking nothing of it as he unpacked the bags.

There was a message from Frank. Gerard stopped moving, a bag of peas melting in his hand as he listened to the crackly recording.

_Hi Gerard, it's Frank. I know you don't want to hear from me, but I thought in case you have a change of heart, I want you to know I’m here. I got a cell phone so you can call me any time. I promise I'll leave you alone now._

Frank repeated his new number twice and added, “Just… call me. If you want to.” When the machine stopped, Gerard shoved the peas in the freezer and wiped his cold wet hand on his jeans. He listened to the message again to get Frank's number, scribbling it down like it would disappear if he didn't write fast enough. He hovered over the phone, biting his nails. He pulled out his cell and he had a missed call from an unknown number. Frank. He programmed the number into his phone and stuffed it back in his pocket.

He needed to think. He finished unpacking the groceries and put coffee on. Grinding beans had become a part of his ritual. He inhaled the rich, delicious aroma as he scooped grounds into the machine. He’d started using filtered water and he was amazed at how much better the coffee tasted. While he waited for the machine to finish its gurgle and drip routine, he chewed at his nails, one by one.

When he finally had a steaming mug in his hand and was taking the first sip, the doorbell rang. His heart lurched. He abandoned his coffee and hurried through the living room. It dinged again, followed by a series of knocks. He held his breath as he yanked open the door.

“Mr. Way! Hi!”

He blinked in disbelief. Gathered on his front porch were Tabitha and some kids from the GSA. Actually, a lot of kids from the GSA. The group spilled out over his lawn and down the driveway.

“Um. Hi?” Gerard took in their expectant faces. “What are you all doing here?”

“We have to talk,” Tabitha said firmly. “Can we come in?”

“What? No way.” Gerard tried to shoo them from crowding around the door. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Please?” Craig stepped forward. “It’s important.”

Gerard flapped a hand at him. “Your mom accused me of being a sexual predator. What do you think’s gonna happen when she finds out you were at my house?” He was surrounded by blank stares and they didn’t seem to be leaving.

With a sigh, Gerard reached into the house to grab his jacket so he could talk to them outside without freezing his balls off. “Okay, what’s going on?”

The kids fired questions at him so rapidly he lost track of who was talking.

“Sir. They shut down the GSA.”—“We have to do something about it.”

Gerard frowned. “I’m aware. Don’t you think I’m trying to do something? These things take time.” 

“Time? We need a plan.”—“What’s your plan, sir?”

“The school is having a meeting with your parents. Talk to them. Get them to come out and support it. There’s your plan.”

“I can’t tell my parents!”—“Why can’t we have meetings here?”—“Yeah. Off school property.”

“Because I’m a teacher and it’s inappropriate.”

“It’s not fair.”—“We thought you cared.”

Gerard’s shoulders slumped. “I care. I do care.” He rubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m doing everything I can. Look, you’re all here.” He motioned at them. “Why don’t you just talk to each other? You don’t need me.”

“We do need you.”—“Prom is coming up and they’re saying we can’t bring same-sex dates.”—“They won’t listen to us.”

“Okay. Listen.” He regretted his words as they crossed his lips. “I’ll talk to the principal and you talk to your parents. If you can get a parent or two to supervise and every single one of you gets a signed permission slip from your parents to attend GSA meetings, then I’ll try to make it happen.”

There were various complaints about keeping it from their parents. Gerard shook his head. “I’m sorry. There’s no other way. Unless you want me to lose my job. And good luck finding another teacher to keep the group going.” That shut them up.

The door opened, hitting Gerard from behind. He cursed and caught the railing to break his fall. A couple of kids moved in to catch him, but he managed to stay upright.

Vickie stopped abruptly when she saw the students and Mikey bumped into her back. “Jesus, Gerard, you got a fan club or something?”

“Meet the GSA. Or like, half of them. I don’t know anymore.”

“We have forty-seven official members, sir.”

“Really?” To think, they’d started the group in September with four people. Granted, they had kids from other schools, but still. Forty-seven?

“How old are you?” Vickie asked the group at large. “Young enough, I imagine, that you should not make a habit out of hanging out at a teacher’s house. Some of them are total pervs.” She smacked Gerard on the shoulder and added, “Not him. He’s okay. But you still shouldn’t be here.”

“They were just leaving,” Gerard said with force. There was grumbling but they took the hint. A few apologized as they backed off, forming a disgruntled cluster on the sidewalk. They stopped moving and began talking amongst themselves. “That’s not good enough!” Gerard called out. “Keep moving!”

“I’m gonna start the car. Maybe that’ll get ‘em going.” Vickie grinned as she shook her car keys in the air. When she turned and marched down the steps with a hand on her stomach, it hit Gerard. All the throwing up and sudden concern for the well-being of his students. She hadn’t sworn once in front of them and she’d defended Gerard. It was either a miracle or—

“Is she pregnant?” he asked Mikey. Who paled and said nothing at all. “Mikey?” Gerard gave him a shove. Mikey shook his head in response but replied, “I don’t know. I think she might be. I’ve been waiting for her to say something.”

“Hurry up!” Vickie yelled from the car. Gerard patted Mikey’s shoulder and sent him off with a look of sympathy. 

Holy fuck. Mikey might be a father.

He went inside and rescued his coffee. It had gone cold but it was still drinkable and he wasn’t one to waste a cup of coffee. He carried it up to the attic and settled on the couch. He took a few minutes to compose himself and think about what he wanted out of a conversation with Frank.

There was nothing Frank could say to make it stop hurting, no easy explanation. But it took two people to end a relationship. If he didn’t at least listen to Frank it would eat away at him. And he wanted to know what horrible things were going through Frank's head. The Frank who had left for tour was not the Frank who had pushed Gerard away. Gerard had missed signs that things were going south and he was sick with guilt over it. He made the call for his own peace of mind.

Frank picked up immediately. “Gerard?”

“Yeah.”

Frank let out a breath. “Oh my god—you called me back.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. I mean, I don’t know what it means.” Gerard got flustered so he kept talking. “A bunch of students just showed up at my house. The school shut down the GSA and they wanted to meet here. Like that wouldn’t get me into trouble with the school! I don’t know what they expect from me. And Vickie’s acting all weird. I think she’s pregnant. I could be an uncle, I don’t even know. Shit. I shouldn’t have told you that. Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“I won’t.”

“Fuck, sorry. I didn’t mean to run my mouth off.” Gerard tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear so he could sip at his cold coffee and calm down. When Frank didn’t say anything, he asked, “How'd you know it was me?”

“You’re the only one with my number. Well, you and my mom,” Frank admitted. “I didn't want you to hang up.”

“I wouldn't do that.”

“Cause you’re not a jerk like me?” Frank made a noise of frustration. “Wait—I’m sorry. I'm not trying to be confrontational. And I’m sorry I showed up at your house like that. I just—I’ve been going crazy.” On a breath out he said, “How are you?”

“That's a loaded question,” Gerard countered. “I can’t believe you got a cell phone.”

“Me neither,” Frank said, quietly adding, “I wanted to make it easy for you to reach me.”

Gerard snorted because it sounded like a bad joke. “I have no idea how to reach you, Frank.”

“We could start with talking.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing? You want me to ask you how you’re doing?” Gerard said sarcastically.

“You know I’m miserable.”

“Are you still in LA?”

“No,” Frank said flatly.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.”

Gerard huffed. “Frank, you wanted to talk, so fucking _talk_.”

“The band's over. We split up.”

“What, for real?”

“Yep. All my fault but what else is new? The guys were mad that I took off. When I went back things got worse. We didn’t even make it into the studio because we couldn’t agree on anything, just kept fighting about everything.”

“I’m sorry.” Gerard shocked himself when he realized that he meant it. “What are you going to do now?”

“That’s the million-dollar question. My mom said if I want to keep living with her I’ll have to go back to school or get a real job and she’s fucking serious this time. Apparently working at Steve’s Guitars isn’t going to cut it anymore.” Frank sighed. “But I didn't call you so I could complain about my life. I want to know how you are.”

“Fucking fantastic.”

“Gee, come on.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to start over.” 

Gerard gripped his mug as he choked out the words, “Frank, you broke my fucking heart. I can’t go through that again. I don’t trust you not to hurt me.” His eyes brimmed with tears but he refused to cry.

“I swear, I will never hurt you again. I love you.”

“You love me—fuck off. If you say that again I’m hanging up.” Gerard snorted and a tear slipped out. “And if that was true you wouldn’t have said all that shit to me.”

“I swear, all that crap in Baltimore, it was bullshit. None of that was about you. I told you I needed some space to work my shit out and suddenly you were there in my face. You caught me drunk and being a total fucking asshole and I was embarrassed. I couldn’t face you. That’s why I wanted you to leave. I didn’t mean any of it. I barely remember most of it.”

“Well, I remember every word.” Gerard clenched his teeth. “You said you didn’t want a relationship. That you couldn’t deal with all my baggage and that I should go find someone who could. You said that you only told me you loved me because I was upset.”

Frank made a pained noise. “I messed up. I know I said awful things to you and I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it. I was stressed out. I lost my cool and said things I don’t mean. Can’t we forget it happened?”

“No, because it did happen.” Gerard sat his coffee mug on the bedside table with a clunk. “Shit happened before that night, too. You told me you loved me and then stopped calling. I was fucking worried about you. What did you think I would do?”

“I…” Frank started and then sighed. “I don’t know. Everything was falling apart. I knew if we weren’t successful in LA then it would be over. It felt like our last chance before everyone gave up on it. Things with the guys got seriously shitty and I didn’t want to dump that on you. I missed you so much. All I wanted to do was come home and I couldn’t. And to keep working hard I had to push it all out of my head.”

“You pushed me away,” Gerard said. “And it was awful. I was worried about you. I had no idea what was going on.” In a smaller voice, Gerard said, “You made me think I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t.”

“That’s not what you said before. You tried to put all that shit on me instead of dealing with it yourself. You didn’t tell your band we were dating”—

—“Because it’s none of their business.”

“And then you told them I all but ordered you not to go to LA. That I’d break up with you if you did.”

Frank raised his voice. “I _never_ said that.”

“That’s what Shaun said.”

“I never said that,” he repeated, softer that time and punctuated with a sigh. “I might have flipped out and said I was worried you’d dump me if we were gone so long.” Frank hesitated before adding, “And you did tell me not to go.”

“I did not! I said I wished you didn’t have to go all the way to the other side of the country before coming home but I never told you not to go. And I wouldn’t leave you over that, that’s fucking ridiculous. I was happy for you—I wanted you to be successful.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay? I was upset and misinterpreted shit. I shouldn’t have blamed you for LA. It’s not like we’d been dating all that long—not long enough to withstand that much time apart—and I thought I was gonna fuck it up. I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Tell the truth, maybe? You have to stop blaming everyone else for your issues.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of a fuck up.”

“What, and I’m not?” Gerard said. “You put up with my crap, why would I judge you?”

“You don’t even see it, do you? You think you’re a mess? That’s total bullshit, Gerard. You have a great job you love, a family who supports you no matter what, friends, a car, a freaking house! You’re the picture of someone who has their shit together.”

“Well, you said the opposite in Baltimore. You see why I can’t trust you?”

“I was projecting. I didn’t want you to see me like that. It sounds fucked up, but like, subconsciously I knew you could take it. You’re the strongest person I know. I didn’t realize what I’d done until afterwards. I know I fucked everything up… our relationship and the band.”

Gerard said quietly. “Jesus, Frank, you’ve seen me at my worst, you know my bad days are pretty fucking bad. Baltimore—that was the first time I’ve left the state in a decade. But you’re going out into the world and showing everybody who you are. Every time you get on stage you’re putting yourself out there. That takes strength too.”

“That shit’s easy—it’s all I’ve ever known. Now that the band is done, I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m a stranger to my own family and it scares the shit outta me. I have no band, no job, and I live with my mother who would drag me to the gates of hell herself if she found out that I take it up the ass. I have nothing.”

“Frank.” Gerard sighed a painful sigh. “You have lots of good things.”

Frank sighed and stayed silent for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, he said, “I feel like a huge pile of crap has been building my entire life and it’s suddenly come crashing down. The last few months—I don’t know where my life is going anymore.”

“Since you met me, you mean?”

“This isn’t about you.”

“Are you sure?”

Frank sighed. “I mean, maybe, yeah, but not in the way you think. Because of you, I want to be a different person, a better person and not some fuck up. I never thought I’d want to be with someone as much as I want to be with you.” Frank paused and then said, “I need you.”

“You don’t need me, you need a therapist. You need to work out your problems without me.”

“Like I can afford a therapist. Besides, if I told my mom I wanted therapy she’d either send me to confession or find an exorcist.”

“Talk to your friends then.”

“It’s not like I have people lined up to hang out with me. My best friends were in the band and they’re not talking to me anymore. I need you.”

“I can’t be that person for you. It’s not healthy for either of us. You need help from someone who isn’t me.”

“Okay. I mean, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll do anything for you.”

“You’re missing the point. You should do it for yourself.”

“Fuck,” Frank moaned. “I’m such a fuck up. I try and I try, and yet I keep hurting everyone around me. I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me.”

“For starters,” Gerard said carefully, “You could quit lying and stop trying to solve your problems by getting wasted.”

“I’m not”—Frank stopped abruptly.

“Not like me?” Gerard finished. 

“I wasn’t gonna say that,” Frank said. “I’m not an alcoholic. It’s not like I drink every day.”

“I’m not saying you are—that’s for you to decide. But Frank, binge drinking and using alcohol to solve your problems? That in itself is a problem. Maybe you’re not physically addicted right now but you’re well on your way. What you’re doing is not healthy. If you’re drinking to get drunk and avoid feeling things and it turns you into an asshole? If you don’t think that’s a big flashing warning sign then I don’t know what to tell you. There are better ways to cope. And fuck, Frank—the lying?” Gerard sighed and closed his eyes. “The thing about lies, Frank—they tend to get away from you. You start with something small, it snowballs and suddenly, everybody’s getting hurt. Nobody wins.”

“I never meant to hurt anybody.”

“I know.”

“Especially you.”

“I know, Frank. I’ve been there. Trust me, I understand.”

“If you understand, why can’t you forgive me? I miss you. Part of my soul is missing.”

“Frank, you have to stop.”

“Please, Gerard.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m miserable? That I miss you? Of course, I miss you, but I’m not falling apart over it. I’m moving on with my life because I have to. I’m going to say this once: if you actually care about me and you’re genuinely sorry, you’ll back off, okay? This is not something that can be fixed with a conversation. I’m sorry you feel like you can’t talk to anyone else but I need time to think about this.”

“Okay, okay,” Frank said quietly. “I’m sorry. Can we at least be friends again?”

“Frank.” Gerard bit his lip. It pained him to say the words, “We can’t be friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because we won’t be just friends. We were never just friends. We’ll end up in bed together and then circle back around to where we are now. And I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh.” 

There was a long moment where Gerard waited for a bigger reaction that didn’t come. He sighed. “Sorry. I didn’t want you to find out later and think I was hiding it or something.”

“You have a new boyfriend. Already.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re… dating, I guess.”

“Is it serious?”

“No, not yet.”

“Not yet?” Frank’s voice pitched higher and Gerard cringed. “Who is he?”

“Frank,” Gerard warned. 

“I’m not—I just wanna know,” Frank said quietly. “I’m not gonna be a jerk about it.”

“His name’s Spencer. He lives in Newark.”

“Spencer?” Frank snorted. “He a math teacher at your school or something?”

“No, he’s a doctor. He works at Saint Michael’s.”

“You’re dating a doctor?” Frank said, exasperated. “Fuck me. I can’t compete with that,” 

“Frank, there’s no competition.” Gerard huffed in frustration. “You broke up with me. I’m single and can date whoever I want.”

There was a great pause and Gerard could sense Frank simmering down the line. It was time to hang up. Before Gerard could summon the words, Frank said, “Where did you meet him?”

Gerard sighed. “Look, Frank, it doesn’t matter. I have to go.”

“C’mon, I’ll stop asking about him. I just wanna talk to you some more.”

“Not now,” Gerard said tightly. “Goodbye, Frank.”

“Wait, wait! Does that mean you’ll call me again sometime?”

“I’m not promising anything. Just, please—don’t call me. I don’t want any more surprises from you.”

“Okay. I won’t—I promise,” Frank said, resigned. “I’m here. Call me anytime. This phone will not leave my sight.”

Gerard hung up and laid back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t know how he felt about anything anymore. 


	24. Death II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is a bit looooooong, but I didn't want to split it in two because the first half is quite talk-y. Sorry about that!

Gerard waited a whole week to call Frank again. He thought about it every day and was torn about it, fluctuating between relief they were talking again and fear that Frank would have a sudden change of heart.

It wasn’t planned, but it was Saturday night and he was home alone and feeling restless. He’d gotten frustrated trying to paint; the ache in his wrist came and went and at the moment it was too sore. The week at school had been long. In light of the GSA being suspended, there’d been a PTA meeting instead to discuss it. Discuss. More like a heated debate that involved enough yelling that Gerard had to cover his ears at one point. 

He wanted to call Frank. He knew he’d made the right decision when Frank answered right away and greeted him cheerily. Hearing Frank’s voice didn’t ease the tension in his gut, so as Gerard was wont to do, he started rambling about his week. 

“The principal doesn’t give a shit—he’s a useless dick. He wants to put off resolving this until next year because the kids with the most vocal parents are graduating. How is that a solution? He said I’d have to get the school counsellor on board, too. Have her _babysit_ the first couple of meetings to make sure nothing sketchy is going on. And all the kids would have to get permission slips. It’s such bullshit. None of the other groups require parental permission. They can join the Rifle Squad and shoot at targets with real guns. Or join the Jesus Loves You group where they shame kids into abstinence. But they can’t come to the GSA to talk about safe sex and their feelings? I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“You ever thought about becoming a school counsellor?”

Gerard laughed half-heartedly. “Yeah, actually.”

“You’d be really good at it. I mean, it sounds like you do the job anyway.”

“I always figured I was too messed up,” Gerard said quietly.

“You’re not. And you’ve already achieved the hardest part. Those kids look up to you. They _want_ to listen to you.”

Gerard hummed in reply. “It would mean a bunch more school and internships and supervision but after all this crap with the GSA I feel like I can’t _not_ consider it.”

“Ugh, yeah, forgot about that. People love those official pieces of paper that tell you jack shit about how well someone can do a job. Especially talking to kids.”

Frank wanted details about the program and kept Gerard yapping for nearly an hour with his questions. It was clear he was avoiding the subject of himself by his rapid-fire enthusiasm. The conversation was stuttered and only accentuated the layer of tension buzzing just below the surface.

Eventually, Frank hesitated and Gerard squeezed in a benign, “What have you been up to?” Frank made a bunch of indecisive noises. Then he sighed and said, “I got a job…well, _another_ job. I’m still doing some nights and weekends at the music shop but during the week I’m working in an office.”

“That’s…” That wasn’t what he was expecting. Gerard chewed on his lip. “Should I be congratulating you or commiserating? Didn’t you say a nine-to-five would be the death of you?”

“If it gets me sympathy points, I’ll take them.” Frank snorted. “It fucking sucks. Part of me has died already. I have to wear a tie and after a week I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

“What’s the job? Don’t you have a title or something?”

“Yeah, I’m a Data Entry Clerk but there’s not much work to do. I spend an hour in the morning entering numbers into spreadsheets and then sit at my desk for the rest of the day trying to look busy. My monitor faces out so there’s always some nosy bugger walking by and checking out my screen. It’s both mind-numbing and stressful but it pays double what I’m making at the shop.”

“It sounds horrific.”

“My mom got me the job. The husband of someone she works with hired me out of pity. As you can imagine, my mom is ecstatic about the situation. I’m only gonna stay long enough to save up enough money to move out. When I’m not pretending to work, I’m fantasizing about living with roach traps and cheap parquet floors instead of my mother.”

Gerard didn’t want to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. Instead, he asked, “Is there a water cooler? Like on TV?”

Frank snorted. “No, I don’t think so. But I haven’t ventured far from my cubicle yet. I’m scared I’ll get lost or someone will ask me what I do there.”

“Watch a couple of episodes of Big Brother or Project Runway and then find the water cooler. Everyone has an opinion about that shit.”

“I think I have enough drama in my life right now.”

“Sports then? Are there teams playing, um… matches or whatever, this time of year?”

“ _Games_ , yeah.” Frank let out a chuckle. “Football’s over but I do have strong opinions about the Mets.”

“There you go.”

A heavy silence settled between them. Frank was so hesitant and weird that it put Gerard on edge. He kind of wanted to hang up. But Frank was being cagey about something—about everything—and Gerard wanted to hear whatever it was Frank was reluctant to tell him. He sighed and came right out with it.

“Frank, you’re being weird. Is there something you want to say?”

“What? No. I just… all I’ve done for the last few months is band stuff and bother you. I didn’t want to bring any of that up and I don’t have much else to say.” Frank cleared his throat and said, “If you really want to know, I found someone else to talk to.” 

For a moment, Gerard’s breath caught in his throat. He was hit with betrayal at the idea of Frank dating someone. But Frank quickly clarified and Gerard admonished himself internally. He breathed out, grateful he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Like, a therapist. I found one who charges on a sliding scale. I’ve only seen her once but, yeah, it went okay. She has me journaling every day. That sucks. It’s a kind of torture I never knew I didn’t need in my life.” Frank paused and then said, “I know you don’t want me to talk about, like, all my shit, so there’s not much else. I’m pretty much consumed with my shit, these days.”

“Oh! Frank, that’s great—I mean it.” Gerard took a moment to breathe through the tightness in his chest. “I don’t _not_ want you to talk about that stuff. When I said that, I meant that I can’t be the one to help you. The person you dump everything on that helps you work through it. I’m glad you found a therapist. But you can tell me anything and if I’m not in a place to listen I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” Frank said carefully. “I think I get it.”

“I know things are shitty right now but they’ll get better. And if you don’t click with this one, don’t feel like you have to stick with her. I told you—I went through multiple people before I found Brian.”

“It’s just—it’s a lot. Asking for help from a frigging stranger? That sucked. I should be able to sort this out myself.”

“You can’t. That’s how you got here, remember?”

“I know,” Frank said softly. “I thought I was coping, but… I guess not.”

“This isn’t the kind of thing you can tackle on your own. There’s no shame in asking for help. It’s way healthier than holding everything inside because it’s going to come out eventually. You know I’ve been there and I know what you’re going through. The hardest part is done. Now all you have to do is show up and do the work. It may not feel like things are getting better—you’ll probably feel way worse for a while, but I promise you, you’ll get there.”

“But I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. I seriously haven’t had a drink since that night I showed up at your house and I don’t even care. I don’t think kicking booze is going to fix me.”

“It’s not that simple. People are complicated. Emotions and coping mechanisms, all so complicated. That’s what the therapist is for. To help you figure all that out. It takes time, Frank. This isn’t something you can just snap yourself out of.”

“But what does that mean for us? Does this mean you’re still seeing the doctor?”

Gerard sighed. “Yeah, I am. You need to focus on yourself and forget about me. I shouldn’t factor into things.”

“Of course, you do. What if it gets serious with him? Where does that leave me?”

“I can’t handle anything serious right now. If it wasn’t Spencer, it’d be someone else. It’s easy with him: we hang out and fuck, with no—fucking drama. That’s what I need right now.”

“So, that’s it? No strings and a warm body to fuck? That’s all you want?” Frank made a noise and choked out, “If you’re trying to make me jealous I’ve learned my lesson. If this is punishment for being an asshole, I gotta tell ya, Gee, there’s nothing you can do that’ll make me hate myself any more than I already do.”

“Frank, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Gerard’s eyes teared up and he softened his voice. “I’m not doing this to hurt you.”

“Then I don’t understand. What is he giving you that you can’t get from me? I know things are fucked right now but I do love you. And he will never love you the way I do. I would do anything for you—why can’t you see that?”

“I know you believe it—I see that much—but I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

“What are you saying? That I’m too late—is that what you’re saying? That I don’t have a chance?”

“No, I’m not saying that at all. We’re talking and that’s about all I can give you right now. That’s what I want and you have to accept that.”

“Okay. Okay.”

*

Everyone had an opinion. It was getting ridiculous. A few late-night conversations with his ex and suddenly everyone was acting like the sky was falling. If one more person told him he was making a mistake or implied that he was being a pushover for even talking to Frank he was going to snap. 

Even his mother got involved:

“Honey, couples have arguments all the time.” 

Oh, _Jesus_ , she sounded like Frank when he’d been desperate and delusional. In her defence, Gerard had shared little with her about the breakup and he wanted to keep it that way.

“It was more than an argument. He’s not the person I thought he was.”

She wheedled him for more information until it was clear she wasn’t getting anything and Gerard was near to tears. Then she hugged him and cooed in his ear, promising to stay out of it.

Mikey:

“I don’t understand why you’re even giving him the time of day.”

“I want to help him.”

Mikey made a frustrated noise. “You can’t help him.”

“Not like that. Just… if he’s willing to try, why can’t I at least listen to what he has to say?”

“Because he hurt you.”

“He makes me happy.”

Mikey snorted. “When he’s not making you feel like shit.”

“I don’t need him to do that when I’m pretty good at doing it to myself.”

“Then, I dunno, Gerard!” Mikey said, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, “Maybe you do deserve each other. You can sit around being miserable together.”

“It’s not like that.”

Brendon:

“You have to make up your mind, you know. It’s cruel the way you’re stringing them along like this.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re screwing the doctor and talking to Frank again like you’re gonna get back together. Spencer might get your body but Frank still has your heart. I don’t know who I feel more sorry for. I’ve been cheated on and it fucking sucks.”

“I’m not cheating on anyone. They both know. It’s not like I’m keeping either of them a secret.”

“Maybe not, but one of them’s going to get hurt if you ever make up your mind. And need I remind you, that only one of them has lied to you and made you cry.”

“You like the doctor so much, why don’t you date him?” Gerard said with snark. The suggestion was meaningless. Neither Brendon nor Mikey had met Spencer properly and Gerard planned to keep it that way.

He did feel guilty about Spencer, so he gave in to him more than he would have liked. Gerard agreed they were dating but as those dates solely consisted of ordering in food and fucking on various surfaces of Spencer’s apartment, there was little in the way of romance or getting to know each other below the surface. Gerard never stayed the night and purposefully avoided discussing his problems or his mental state.

“I know I signed up for this, whatever this is,” Spencer said one night. Gerard braced himself for a lecture. “But Frank has an unfair advantage. He got to know you—the real you—and you haven’t even given me a chance. You don’t tell me anything. And fine, I get it. But at some point this”—he motioned between them—“either has to go somewhere or stop. I’d rather it went somewhere. Frank had his opportunity, and clearly, he ruined it or you wouldn’t be so reluctant to go back to him. Give me a fighting chance and then you can decide who you want to be with, fair and square.”

To be fair, Spencer’s assessment of the situation was accurate. He was just so matter-of-fact about everything and almost seemed ambivalent about his feelings for Gerard. But then, as Gerard had learned with Frank, strong emotions were easy to hide, especially when there was a lot at stake.

Gerard brought all of his frustrations to his next psych appointment. Brian, with his level-headed diplomacy, continued to be a calming point in his week. More than once he’d reminded Gerard that he was there to help him through whatever life had thrown at him. He was not there to take sides or tell Gerard whether or not he should give Frank another chance. That was up to Gerard.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. The decisions you make are yours alone and you have to live with them. But Gerard, it doesn’t have to be all or nothing and you can change your mind whenever you need to. You’ve set boundaries with Frank already. As long as you feel comfortable then you’re doing the right thing for you. No one else matters.”

After that session, Gerard called a moratorium on people sharing their feelings about Frank. Another word and he’d politely but firmly shut them down. Navigating his own thoughts was quite enough. He didn’t need or want any more advice on the matter. This was between him and Frank. Anything anyone else had to say was irrelevant.

*

Despite the discomfort, Gerard had paintings to finish. Sometimes he could work through it but it was slow and tedious. If he propped his arm up at the right angle, he could do tiny details and touch-ups. Until his hand began to shake.

He tossed his brush aside and grit his teeth as he massaged his fingers. Glancing around, he supposed he had enough pieces for the show. Now he was grateful Mikey had stopped him from destroying the one of Frank. They’d all have to go in the show now. Gerard paced the room, surveying the art he had to offer. It had to be enough. He moved the big one of Frank away from the wall. It was the first time he’d looked at it since Mikey had rescued it. It was a darn good piece.

The weather was unseasonably warm outside so Gerard went out on the attic balcony for a cigarette. He smoked leisurely, staring up at the night sky. Few stars shone through as they were bathed in light pollution from the city. It was still beautiful and had a calming effect on his nerves. Actually, that was probably the smoke. He stubbed out the butt and reached for his phone.

“Have you been outside,” Gerard asked as he collapsed into one of the deckchairs. “It’s really warm out.”

Frank chuckled. “Funny. I’m outside right now.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmm-hmm. I’m out back at my dad’s place. Can’t really smoke in the house.”

“You’re at your dad’s?”

“Yeah. He lives in Trenton.” Frank took a deep breath and let out a slow exhale. “I called him and kinda told him how fucked up I am. I didn’t go into detail but I think he got the picture.” The sound of Frank sucking on the filter of his cigarette crackled down the line. Gerard gazed into the sky and waited for Frank to continue. “I don’t see him much—Christmas and maybe once or twice during the year. I always blamed him for everything with my mom. When they split up I wanted to go and live with him. I begged him not to leave me alone with her and her religious bullshit but he didn’t question her, wouldn’t fight for me. He moved to a different city to start a new life and all I got were weekend visits. I was angry about that for a long time. Now I’m just… sad, I guess.”

“You’re being honest with him—that’s something, right.”

“Yeah,” Frank said faintly. “Can you see any stars?”

“Some, yeah.” Gerard tilted his head back until his vision was nearly filled with sky. He blinked away the dizziness and wondered why he didn’t do this more often. The hum of the city melted away until all he was focussed on was Frank breathing, smoking probably. Softly, to not disturb the mood, he said, “Sky’s pretty hazy. There’s a couple of bright ones though.”

Frank matched his quiet tone. “I don’t know any of their names—North Star, maybe, but fuck knows where that is. Some do stand out though.”

Gerard fumbled to get another cigarette out of the pack. Thankfully, he’d gotten good at lighting them with his left hand. When he blew smoke out into the night the stars blazed through the smoke.

“You’re just like one of those stars, Gerard. The brightest one.” Frank made a frustrated noise and then apologized. “Sorry. It’s true though.”

Gerard didn’t know what to say so he continued smoking.

“You gonna hang up on me now?” Frank said.

“No.” Gerard inhaled and then took the time to blow out a slow, thin stream of smoke. He wanted to give Frank a hug. It had been a long fucking time. “That was kind of sweet.” 

“Okay,” Frank said. “Good.”

They sat in silence for a while, smoking and gazing up at the sky. It was enough to hear Frank breathing that it didn’t feel awkward. It was peaceful, even.

Eventually, Frank said, “I went to an AA meeting this week, just to check it out.”

“Really?”

“Don’t—I dunno, don’t get too excited. I’m not sure I’ll go back. I don’t think it’s my thing—I don’t think it’s gonna help me at all. Every time someone mentioned God I wanted to run out screaming or throw my chair across the room. It’s not conducive to dealing with my anger in a healthy way. My therapist said that, by the way,” Frank wryly added. “They let me talk, though. Stuff I’ve been thinking about a lot. It was good to get it off my chest, especially to a whole room of strangers who don’t give a shit about what I’ve done. And I guess in a way I wanted to see what it was like for you. I dunno, sounds stupid now.”

“Frank, that’s not stupid at all.”

“I have a speech if you want to hear it?”

“What? Yes, of course, I do.” Gerard shifted on the hard chair, slouching down even further. The night sky was having a calming effect on his nerves and he figured it would soothe whatever Frank was about to say. 

“Okay, here it goes.” Frank took a deep breath and then started, “Hi. My name’s Frank. I don’t think I’m an alcoholic but I imagine lots of people say that in the beginning. Maybe it’s true or maybe this is how it starts for everyone. I haven’t had a drink for a couple of weeks. I don’t know if this sounds crazy given we’re at an AA meeting but I think I’m addicted to anger, not alcohol. When I’m mad there’s nothing but the rage and I’ve become dependant on it. It’s bad enough that it obliterates everything else—anything I don’t want to feel. Good, bad—doesn’t matter. I guess I like drinking because it gets me to that place real quick and afterwards I have something to blame other than myself. I know it’s selfish but I’ve been like this for so I don’t know how to fix it. For a long time, it didn’t matter. My friends were used to it—excused it even—and my family, well, I guess that’s how I learned how to keep it all inside. But then, I met someone. I fell in love and in trying to keep this part of myself hidden from him, I pushed him away. Hurt him more than I ever thought I was capable of. And he’s like, the purest most beautiful person I’ve ever met. He has the biggest heart and he cares so much about everything and everyone. People like him, they don’t just stroll into your life and instead of cherishing him, I took his love and his trust and I crushed it. And I hate myself for it. I’m here because I want to be a better person. I’m here because I don’t want to be angry anymore. I’m here because I want to be a part of his life again and even though I know I should be doing it for myself—he told me that himself—I want him to trust me again and I will do anything to make that happen.”

Frank sniffled and Gerard could hear the wetness in his voice. Gerard’s cheeks were streaming with tears but he was breathing normally. Neither spoke for a long time. Finally, Frank said, “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Gerard cleared the thickness from his throat and wiped at his face. “No, it’s okay. It still hurts but I’m also happy for you. That’s—it’s a lot, but it’s good. How did you feel afterwards?”

Frank snorted out a wet laugh. “Still angry. Don’t think that’s going away any time soon but I’m trying not to be so reactive. Forcing myself to take a step back and think before I act or go ballistic on anyone else no matter how antagonistic they are. I’m talking to the guys again, not that we’ve sat down to play or anything. Neil already fucked off and joined another band but the others are open to it. I sent them a bunch of new songs as a peace offering. I’ve been writing a whole lot—it’s that frigging journal my therapist has me doing—I’m loath to admit that it might be working. Gets the stuff out of my head and lightens the burden of it on my mind. I’ve found that putting what I want to say to people on paper before opening my mouth helps a ton if that makes any sense?”

“Oh, I get it. Why do you think I paint so much?”

“I guess I never thought such pain and misery would be something I’d want to share. Thought I’d hide it away in a little notebook that would never see the light of day. Instead, I’ve been writing so many songs. Most of them are way too bitter or melancholic but there are a few gems in there.” Frank lowered his voice and added, “Half of them are about you.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or disturbed.”

“The sad songs are about you. Mostly pining and regret on my part. The angry ones are all about my mother. Shaun and Tim lost their shit over them and Hambone thought they were so great he started talking about going out and breaking some girl’s heart for inspiration.”

“That dude’s got issues you can see from space.”

Frank sighed. “Tell me about it. He doesn’t get any of this. I think he’s allergic to feelings. Honestly? I wouldn’t rule him out as a sociopath. I, um, sat them all down and told them that for any of this to work, we had to talk about our feelings. Hambone looked like he was going into anaphylactic shock. Should have seen his face when I mentioned couples counselling for the whole band.”

Gerard snorted out an ungainly laugh. “Seriously? Is that even a thing?”

“No, not if you consider my therapist’s reaction. She actually laughed at me! Like full-on cackling like a witch and fanning herself like she was overheated with amusement. Is that even allowed? To laugh at a client like that?”

“I dunno. Brian’s super-serious about everything. Any time I try to distract him with a joke instead of talking he gives me this look like he can see right through me. I don’t think he gets my puns. Did she ask you how you felt afterwards? Whenever things get awkward during a session, Brian turns it around and puts me on the spot to distract from whatever we were talking about.”

“Yeah. And she apologized when she realized I was serious about it. First, she hummed a lot and said it was unorthodox. Said we should sit down with a mediator and hash everything out but she’d be willing to do one session with them if it’ll help me. Either the guys want the band to work or they don’t. I’d rather find out sooner than later.”

“Frank, I’m so proud of you—you have no idea.”

“I feel like I’ve wasted years of my life.” His voice softened and he said, “It hurts to admit this, but I think you might be right about us. I don’t have my shit together enough to have a relationship. With you—with anyone. And I sure as hell don’t deserve you.”

It wasn’t expected and Gerard got all choked up. “Frank, whatever happens, please don’t blame yourself. Don’t let that consume you or convince you that you’re somehow not worthy. You are. Even if things don’t work out between us, please remember that.”

“I’ll try.” Frank got quiet for a moment. “You know, part of me doesn’t care. Part of me wants you no matter what. No matter the cost. I don’t know if that’s right but it’s how I feel. And I’m trying, Gerard. I’m really trying. That you’re still speaking to me—talking to you is like the highlight of my week, seriously. When I’m not working at the office or the music shop, I’m sitting around ruminating on everything I did wrong.”

“You’re doing good. You’ll get through it.”

*

Of course, that’s when something snapped. An actual breaking point. In all honesty, Gerard had been expecting it. At least this time it was physical. Corporeal pains he could cope with.

Another appointment at the hospital had the doctor hemming and hawing over his latest x-ray. One of the pins in Gerard’s wrist had shifted and he needed surgery to stabilize it. Fucking surgery. The words went round and round his head until it made him sick. 

Saying he freaked out a little was an understatement. The nurse forced him to lie on the examination table and counted his breaths with him until he stopped hyperventilating. He left on unsteady feet and hung around the ER until he spotted Spencer coming out of one of the exam rooms. With a wan smile, he promised to meet Gerard in the cafeteria in an hour.

Gerard bided his time by going outside and smoking furiously. His hand trembled as he brought a second cigarette to his lips and tried to light it. The doctor had also told him to quit smoking. Fuck that. Maybe if he survived being knocked out and hacked open.

Five minutes passed. Another cigarette. He whipped out his phone and held his breath as it rang and rang and rang.

Frank sounded elated when he answered. “Hey, Gerard! This is a surprise.” There was a ton of noise in the background and Frank cursed.

“Bad time?” Gerard asked.

“No, no.” Frank huffed into the phone. “Hang on a sec.” Muffled voices came through. Rustling. Frank talking to someone and what sounded like phones ringing and keyboards clicking away. “Sorry,” Frank said when the sounds dimmed.

“Shit, I forgot—you’re at work, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, the living hell that is _We’re Rich And You’re Not International_ ,” Frank said snidely. He coughed once and added, “Well, now I’m outside.”

The background noise had vanished to make way for the soft whooshing of traffic and the flick of Frank’s lighter. Gerard inhaled on his smoke and laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry. Should I let you go?”

“No, no. I took a smoke break.” It sounded like he was pacing—gravel crunching beneath his feet. “Don’t mind me—are you alright? Are you at school?”

“No. I had to get yet another x-ray of my wrist.”

“Didn’t go well? You sound stressed.”

“Hmm. You’re fucking perceptive,” Gerard said kindly.

“I can hear you huffing and puffing on your smoke.”

Gerard smiled to himself. A familiar feeling fluttered in his stomach. “It’s ‘cos I’m using my good hand to hold the phone. At this point, I’m surprised they don’t cut the other one off.” Sparing no gory detail, he told Frank about the surgery. “And the doctor told me to quit smoking.” He stubbed out his cigarette and chewed on a nail. “What does it matter? I might not wake up.”

“Gerard!” Frank squawked. “Seriously, don’t say that.”

“Or they might fuck it up so I can’t draw or paint anymore.”

Frank waited a beat before calmly adding, “Or masturbate.”

Gerard tried not to laugh and failed. “It’s not funny.”

“Gee, I promise—you’re not going to die. You haven’t been through all the shit you have only to be taken down by too much anesthetic.”

“My heart could stop.”

“Nope. I’m still working on mending that heart. Part of it, at least, belongs to me. No fucking way is it gonna stop beating on my watch. Not for a second.”

“Frank,” Gerard complained. “Keep that shit to yourself.”

“And I wouldn’t worry about your hand—you’ll still have the left one. You can learn how to use it instead. Or paint with your feet. I saw a documentary—this artist with no arms paints with his feet and his art is amazing. Hell, there’s a chimpanzee who sold stuff to the National Gallery. If a monkey can do it with no thumbs, you can certainly use your left hand.”

By the time Frank finished his spiel, Gerard couldn’t keep the lopsided grin off his face. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Frank hesitated before asking, “So, when is it?”

Gerard’s face fell. “Wednesday. I’ll be off work for a few days afterwards.”

“Can I see you before then? Tonight even?”

While he’d been calling Frank regularly—they’d chat on the phone for hours—they had yet to meet face-to-face. The thought of it now made him anxious. And excited. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea—it would be too much like a reconciliation he wasn’t ready for—but in the end, he couldn’t deny him.

“Because I might not make it?” Gerard said lightly.

“No,” Frank said gruffly. “Because I feel like I need to convince you that you will.”

When he hung up he felt lighter. A significant part of him was desperate to see Frank before he went under the knife. Just in case. He went to the hospital cafeteria and bought a coffee while he waited for Spencer.

He showed up twenty minutes later wearing a rumpled lab coat and a smile. As he stooped down for a kiss his stethoscope whacked Gerard in the face. “Sorry!” He chuckled and went in again, this time holding the instrument tight to his chest.

“That’s what I get for dating a doctor.” Gerard ran a hand through his hair as Spencer sat beside him.

“What’s going on? You worried about surgery?”

“Yeah.” Gerard readjusted his cast in his lap and scratched his arm.

Spencer took Gerard’s hand and rubbed his fingers as he explained everything that would happen on the day. It was soothing, Spencer massaging his hand and the soft drone of his voice. If Spencer had any concerns about the surgery itself, he kept them well concealed.

Like Frank, he also promised Gerard that he wouldn’t die. “I can say that and mean it because I’m not your doctor.”

“Thanks.” Gerard looked at their intertwined hand and squeezed.

“I have to go.” Spencer kissed Gerard on the cheek and stood up. “I’m off tomorrow night if you want to come by?” Gerard nodded and swallowed his guilt.

*

That night, Gerard met Frank at a coffee shop not far from his parent’s place. Even through the window Frank looked rattled. He messed with his hair and then stuck his hands between his knees, shifting like he was trying to twist himself into a pretzel. His eyes roamed the room, brows pinched together and exuding first-date jitters. 

Gerard walked in and immediately caught Frank’s eye. He offered a wave in greeting and motioned at the counter. It took restraint not to watch Frank as he waited for his drink. His heart hammered in his chest as he slid into the booth, giving Frank a careful smile. 

Seeing Frank was—his heart felt like it was going to explode out of his chest and shower them in glitter and rainbows. For all the stress written on his face and the mess he’d made of his hair, Frank looked breathtaking. Gerard had missed him.

He wanted to go in for a hug but thought better of it, offering Frank a tiny, “Hi” that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Frank fiddled with his cup and met Gerard’s eyes when he said, “Hey,” in return. They spent a minute or two struggling with awkward smiles and eye contact neither seemed capable of breaking.

Frank tossed his head to clear the hair from his eyes. It was getting long. He brushed his fingers back through it and swept the strands behind his ears finally giving Gerard a proper look. “You look good.”

“Except for my gimpy wrist.” Gerard waved his cast around. “But hey, who needs two hands, am I right?”

“Stop it.” Frank made a crazy face and stilled Gerard’s arm, tapping lightly on his cast. “Does this still hurt?”

“Not much anymore. It’s going to hurt like motherfucker after they cut it open.”

“You’re strong. You’ll be okay, I know you will.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I figure if I tell you enough times, eventually you’ll believe it.”

“Thanks.” Gerard took a sip of coffee to hide his discomfort. “How was work?”

“Same, although I clocked out early to have dinner with my dad.” Frank looked down at the table and chewed on his lip ring. “I told him I’m into guys.”

“Jesus”—Gerard nearly spit out his coffee—“You didn’t wanna start with that? Frank, that’s a big deal.” Gerard gestured wildly, his cast knocking against the table. 

“I guess. 

“No, it is. Good for you.”

Frank sighed. “I realized that I can’t have a good relationship with him if I’m not honest about who I am. I know that now. If he doesn’t like who I am, then…” Frank shrugged. “And you do look good,” he added with a smirk.

Gerard rolled his eyes but smiled along with it. “Did you plan it or did something happen?”

“I mean, I’ve been wanting to say something for a while. I was working up the courage. We were at dinner and I just said it, told him I have”—Frank’s face went flat before he corrected himself—“I mean, _had_ a boyfriend. That I like guys. He didn’t freak out and he wasn’t mad or upset. Surprised maybe. He asked about my girlfriend from high school so I told him I’m bi and he seemed to understand that. He said he loves me no matter what and as long as I’m happy, he’s happy.”

“Frank, that’s so amazing. I know I keep saying I’m proud of you, but I am. I really am.” Gerard wanted to take Frank’s hand. He settled for fiddling with his coffee cup instead.

“Yeah, it wasn’t all good. He warned me not to tell my mom. Said as much as she loves me, she wouldn’t understand and it would only hurt both of us.”

“You can still be you and not tell her anything. God knows the shit I’ve kept from my parents. No one would think any less of you,” Gerard added lightly.

“I mostly care what you think,” Frank said quietly, the words twisting in Gerard’s gut.

He leaned closer and said, “Frank, I wouldn’t think any less of you.” They gazed at each other across the table for an intense minute. Gerard had to look away as he was overwhelmed by emotions.

Frank cleared his throat and started talking again. “My dad’s such a coward. I told him that, too. That was even harder than telling him I like dick. I told him he should have stood up to her when I was a kid and let me live with him at least part-time.” Frank twirled his coffee cup around and chewed on his lip ring. “And you know what? He agreed with me. Apologized. Said that yeah, he’s _still_ scared of my mom. I don’t even know what to do with that. He’d my dad, you know?”

“Just because he’s your dad doesn’t mean he knows better than you. Getting older does not make you any smarter or more equipped to deal with life.”

“Can’t blame him I guess.” With a sigh, Frank put his elbow on the table, nearly knocking over his coffee cup. Gerard righted it before it could tip over. Then Frank propped his face in his hand to stare at Gerard with a dreamy look on his face. “I missed you.” He sighed again and Gerard threw a crumpled napkin at his face because he didn’t want to talk about it. “Can I visit you in the hospital?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. But after surgery—I’m pretty sure my whole family will be there until it’s over no matter what I tell them.”

“They care about you.”

“I know.” Gerard felt sad again but he wasn’t sure why. “I’ll get Brendon to call you as soon as it’s over to let you know how it goes.”

“Please do.” Frank breathed out.

They kept it short—it was late and they both had to work in the morning. Gerard wasn’t sure if he was testing the waters or working out an amicable closure. When they left, though, Frank declined a ride but asked for a hug. Not as goodbye in case something went wrong during Gerard’s surgery, Frank explained quite emphatically, but for good luck. 

Gerard was a clingy guy, hugged everyone like he never wanted to let go, but having Frank in his arms had always felt a little different. There was something more to it. Like he understood the cliche of saying they fit together perfectly. It wasn’t a physical thing—bodies were designed to slot together like pieces of lego—it was that their hearts and souls seemed to intertwine. Gerard closed his eyes and held on for dear life.

*

The night before the surgery, Gerard couldn’t sleep. He camped out on the couch and watched horror movies. They were a comfort as long as he avoided anything involving doctors or hospitals. Around three am, towards the end of Chopping Mall, Mikey crept downstairs and insinuated himself under Gerard’s blankets.

When it ended, Mikey stuck on another movie, put a pillow on his lap and hauled Gerard into it. Gerard made a disgruntled noise as he laid his head down. He hadn’t planned on falling asleep but he knew the movie so well that when he closed his eyes the visuals played out in his mind. It was one of his favourite Argento movies, ‘Phenomena’—the one with a chimp, a pubescent Jennifer Connelly and a shitload of telepathic bugs. It wasn’t long before Mikey’s gentle fingers in Gerard’s hair and the ethereal Goblin soundtrack had him drifting off to sleep.

When he woke up, the TV screen was black and morning rays shone through the drapes. He struggled upright, waking Mikey. He righted his crooked glasses and then stretched, letting out a big yawn.

Still in a daze, Gerard rested his head against the back of the couch. Mikey patted his head before he got up and went into the kitchen. Gerard fell back asleep in that position and was startled awake when Mikey placed a warm mug in his hand.

He took a sip and made a face. It was bitter as fuck without cream or sugar.

“At least you’re allowed coffee,” Mikey said. “What did they say about smoking?”

“That I should quit.” Gerard scowled into his mug.

Later, on the way to the hospital, Gerard lit up in the car and smoked what he prayed wasn’t his last cigarette. After he paid for parking and retrieved his bag from the trunk, he handed Mikey the keys and apologized. Gerard hated relinquishing his car as much as Mikey hated driving, but he didn’t know how long he’d have to stay after the surgery.

Check-in was early, although they wouldn’t cut him open until the afternoon. He’d somehow persuaded his parents not to come by until later but Mikey planned to stay all day. Gerard despised the worry he caused them to the point that it made him feel sick. It was one thing for him to contemplate his improbable death but he sure as hell didn’t want his family thinking about it.

They spent the morning hanging out in various waiting rooms while Gerard got poked and prodded. Nurses and doctors asked a billion questions. Usually the same ones over and over again. He was relieved when they finally checked him into a room, although they’d also forced him into a hospital gown.

Then it became real.

He sat cross-legged on the bed and wiggled around until the least amount of skin was showing. The material was itchy and he wondered if anyone had died wearing it. Did they throw them out or simply wash them for the next patient? With a tense sigh, he started poking at his hand under the cast. His stomach rumbled but what he craved was another cigarette.

“Are you gonna get another cast?” When Gerard nodded, Mikey asked, “Same colour or something different this time?” He sat comfortably slouched in a chair beside the bed, peering up at Gerard over the top of his glasses.

“Same, probably. I already bought a tie to match for the art show.” Gerard grinned.

“That’s awesome.” Mikey pushed his glasses up his nose. “Who are you inviting? Spencer or Frank?”

“Um… both of them?” Gerard said hesitantly.

“Gee, you can’t invite both of them.”

“Why not?” Mikey gave him a look of disbelief. “I have to invite Frank—he’s the subject of a couple.” Gerard flapped his good hand around for emphasis. “And Spencer is a legitimate fan of Gram’s work.”

“Um, hello, you’re also dating him?”

“Yeah, that too.”

Mikey studied him for a good long minute. “A month ago, you were trashing anything with Frank’s face on it.”

“I was mad.” Gerard awkwardly crossed his arms, tugging his gown open to expose his back. A chill went up his back and he scrambled to close it. “You know we’re talking again. And I had coffee with him the other night.”

“So, what, you’re gonna pull an 80’s rom-com and try to keep them from meeting each other?” Mikey’s lip quirked as he pitched his voice higher. “Oh, Frank, stay here and look at this painting while I go do shit over there. Oh, Spencer, look over there!”

“Ha ha.” Gerard slumped back in bed with a serious frown. “Maybe I won’t invite either of them. Asking one and not the other is like, making a serious choice. This show is a big deal. It’ll send a message to both of them.”

“Maybe it’s time you made that choice.” Gerard gave him a pathetic look and Mikey sighed. He waved a hand at Gerard in defeat. “Fine, invite them both. I’m sure Brendon’s great at subterfuge. I bet he could keep one of them occupied while you get busy with the other in the cloakroom.”

“Who’s getting busy in what cloakroom?” Spencer strolled into the room with a gleaming smile. His lab coat was pressed and clean, indicating he wasn’t on duty yet. He greeted Mikey and sat awkwardly on the bed until Mikey got the hint and mumbled something about finding a vending machine.

“How’s the patient?” Spencer said in his placating, ‘doctor voice’.

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Gerard complained, trying to cross his arms to cover them up.

“Sorry.” Spencer chuckled, showing zero remorse. “You look cute in your gown.” 

Gerard wrinkled his nose and snarled until Spencer leaned in and kissed his face. “I’m trying not to think about it.” He grabbed Spencer’s collar and pulled him in for a dirtier kiss, sticking his tongue in Spencer’s mouth before he could protest. Spencer laughed when they separated.

“Don’t laugh. That might be the last kiss I ever get.”

Spencer shook his head. “It won’t be.”

“Whatever you say, doctor,” Gerard muttered.

Spencer sat with him a bit longer, showering him with reassurances he didn’t believe. When Mikey returned, Spencer promised to visit after the surgery. Gerard nodded but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He was struck with regret. Why had he told Frank not to come until after the surgery? He wanted to see him now. He needed to see him now. What if he didn’t make it? What if this was it and he never saw Frank again?

Without noticing, his breath had quickened and there were tears in his eyes. He clenched the sheets with his good hand and willed his heart to slow down. Mikey moved to his side and hugged him, letting Gerard wipe his snotty face on his shoulder. He whispered into Gerard’s hair, “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Tell Frank I love him. If I die, please, tell him I love him.” Gerard said, suddenly sobbing.

“You’re not going to die.” Mikey pet Gerard’s hair until he stopped crying. “You’re not. I promise.” 

When Gerard pulled himself together, he wiped his face and thought about how Frank must feel right now. If their positions were reversed, he’d be there for Frank in a heartbeat. It was too late, though. He couldn’t keep Frank at an arm’s length and then expect him to be there whenever Gerard needed him. That wasn’t fair.

Gerard clutched Mikey’s arm and pleaded with him. “Mikey, I know you want to kick his ass, but will you please, please call Frank after the surgery. I told him not to come until after, but I need to see him.”

“Yes, Gee.” Mikey nodded fervently. “Of course, I promise.” Gerard nodded and took a deep breath. “I can call him now if you want? I’m sure he’ll come.”

“No, no. I’m freaking out over nothing.” And it wouldn’t be right.

A stir of voices echoed in from the hall and suddenly his parents were in the room, smothering him with hugs and talking too loud. Gerard laid back and let them fuss over him until eventually, a nurse shooed them out so she could shoot him up with drugs. She had him lie on his back as she fiddled with her tray of scary tools. When she approached him, she had a big needle in her hand.

“Oh, fuck.” He had enough to take in the amused expression on her face before everything went dark.

When he opened his eyes, Frank was there. The nurse blocked his view and pulled something off his face. An oxygen mask. How had that gotten there? It was a different nurse and when she moved away Frank appeared again.

“Where’s the other nurse?” His throat was dry and his voice came out croaky.

Frank smiled fondly. “You got me here and all you want is the nurse?”

“She was about to give me a needle.” Gerard wiggled the fingers on his good hand and got them squeezed in return. Frank looked so beautiful, he wanted to cry. “Am I dead?”

Frank shook his head. His movements were slow and when he spoke, his voice was smooth like honey. “No, but you look like it. You’re out of surgery. It’s over. How do you feel?”

“I dunno.” He shifted around a little and shivered. There was some pain in his other arm and he summoned the courage to look at it. It was propped on a pillow with a tube attached to it. He got squeamish about it—something sick crawled into his gut—and he had to look away. “Do I look that bad?” he asked the nurse who had returned to poke at his fingers.

“Nah, you’re still gorgeous.” Frank massaged the back of his hand.

The nurse smiled and asked him a bunch of questions. Once satisfied with his answers, she explained that he’d have to stay there for a while before they’d take him to his room. Gerard shuddered again and Frank asked the nurse for another blanket. He took Gerard’s hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles over and over again. When he bent down to kiss the back of it, Gerard didn’t protest.

The nurse brought a flannel blanket and Frank helped her bundled Gerard up, nice and tight. Carefully, Frank positioned himself on the edge of the bed, pulling his knee up so he could face Gerard. Then he found Gerard’s good hand under the blanket and continued rubbing his fingers. Frank had that muted smile on his face again and with the overhead lights bleeding around the crown of his head, he looked like an angel.

“Are you sure I’m not dead?” Gerard squinted. “You look like an angel.” Frank laughed softly and brushed the backs of his fingers down Gerard’s cheek. Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. To break from Frank’s gaze he looked at his broken arm again. His next breath caught in his throat. He tried to move his fingers but they were numb. What if they didn’t work anymore? What if he couldn’t draw or paint or even button a shirt? He couldn’t wipe the tears from his face because Frank had one hand and the other was completely useless.

“Hey, hey.” Frank brushed the tears away for him. He tilted Gerard’s head so he was looking at Frank and not his arm. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” Frank’s fingers were warm and soothing on his face. Calm and sure. He didn’t stop until Gerard’s breathing evened out and his cheeks were dry.

“Sorry,” Gerard said faintly. He tried to pull his good hand away from Frank but Frank refused to let go. Held tight and gave him a look. Said, “Don’t be,” and kissed his knuckles.

The pressure in Gerard’s chest flopped over into his stomach. His head hurt and he didn’t know what to feel anymore. Now that he could see Frank clearly, his concerns intensified. “Why are you dressed like that?” Frank’s white button-up, black tie, and neatly combed hair were a great look for a funeral. “Frank?” Gerard said in a panicked voice. He struggled to sit up and get a good look around the room.

“Easy, easy.” Frank held him back with soft hands and shifted closer. “I was at work, that’s all. They have a strict dress code even for lackeys like me. See”—Frank pointed at his mouth—“I even had to take out my lip ring.”

When Gerard touched Frank’s face it was like reaching through space and time to get there. Even as he watched his fingers meet Frank’s lips, it looked like it was someone else’s hand. There was a disconnect as his arm floated before him and he had to close his eyes to make it stop. Frank clasped his hand again and like a towline, it pulled Gerard back to himself. He met Frank’s eyes and waited until the worry had passed before he started talking again.

“Have you had surgery before?”

“No, thank goodness.” Frank squeezed his hand and smiled. “My mom would be all over that. I broke my ankle when I was fifteen and tried to skateboard with the cast on—not one of my finer moments. So, I broke the other one, too. My mom didn’t trust me to keep the casts dry in the tub and she gave me sponge baths every night. I think it was punishment for not listening to the doctor. Six of the most awkward weeks of my life.”

“Ugh. I’m not getting a hard cast till the swelling goes down. No one is giving me a sponge bath. I’d rather not bathe at all.”

“Your students will love that—the art teacher who smells like poverty and despair. All you have to do is stop brushing your hair and tell them it’s performance art.”

Gerard bit back a smile. “Where’s everybody else? Not that I’m complaining.”

“They’re in the waiting room. Only one person is allowed in here. This”— Frank motioned with his head—“is while you wake up. When they move you to your room they’ll let everyone else in.”

Gerard squeezed Frank’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here. That you’re the one who was here when I woke up.”

“Thank your brother. Your mom made a fuss, but he insisted,” Frank said.

After the tranquillity of his gentle wake-up with Frank, getting moved to his room was an ordeal. Everyone wanted to hug him, his mom started crying, and the pain in his arm got progressively worse as the drugs wore off. Frank faded into the background while his family crowded him, speaking in whispers that were still too loud.

Exhaustion hit. His eyelids drooped and his whole body felt like a sinking weight. If it weren’t for the throbbing in his arm and the pounding in his head, he’d have passed out by now. He’d made it through the surgery and now he had to face the inevitable pain that followed. He refused to take any opioids. Both his psychiatrist and his doctor had agreed it would be best to avoid them. Gerard knew it was a bad idea because of how badly he wanted them. Only Brian knew that Gerard had fantasized about coming out of surgery and getting drugged up. About how good it would feel.

But the alternatives sucked. And as much as he wanted to change his mind, he couldn’t. His family knew, his doctors and nurses knew—it was written in big letters across every single document that pertained to him. No one would him let have the good stuff, no matter how much he begged. Instead, they offered weak substitutes, suggesting he try meditation or acupuncture to alleviate the pain.

Fucking acupuncture. Like he was gonna let some hippie asshole stick dozens of needles in his arm. Fuck that.

Worn-out from feeling angry, he drifted off to sleep.

Later, he got a rude awakening from a nurse who was shaking his good arm and telling him to wake up. He groaned at the pain and gave the nurse a dirty look.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Way, you were moving around in your sleep.” He tried to move and a pained expression hit his face. “Relax. Take these.” She handed him a couple of pills that he washed down with a tiny paper cup of water. “They should kick in after a few minutes.”

Gerard cursed under his breath and tried to still himself. There was a pressing on his bladder that surprised him. “I think I have to pee,” he told the nurse, feeling the heat on his cheeks. 

She held up a bedpan and he groaned his displeasure. “I can help you to the washroom if you think you can move your arm?” she offered with a cheery smile. Gerard wanted to punch her in the pearly whites or douse her clean uniform with body fluids. He closed his eyes and breathed in. Pain and frustration were turning him into a monster.

When he made a tentative move with his arm it felt like someone was trying to tear it out of its socket. He sighed and reached out for the bedpan. She had to help him up, though, as motion was akin to burning alive and he was certain he’d pass out from the pain.

The buzz of the motorized bed easing him into a sitting position was torture. He let the nurse control the bed while he breathed through the stabbing in his arm. Once he was upright, she tucked the bedpan between his legs and offered to come back in a few minutes if he preferred to do the rest himself. Thank fuck he had one good hand.

It wasn’t the humiliation that got to him, it was the memory of being in that very hospital after he’d had the shit beat out of him so many years ago. Then, he’d needed help doing fucking everything for a long, long time. He vowed that the next time he had to go, he would get himself to the bathroom, no matter what.

After she’d cleaned up after him and left the room, Gerard heard her say, “Doctor.” Then she conversed with them, but their voices were too muffled to understand.

Whether it was good timing or bad—Gerard wasn’t sure—a few minutes later, Spencer walked in. At least Spencer had seen his dick before, although Gerard loathed feeling so helpless. It also wasn’t Spencer’s job—professional or otherwise—to help Gerard go to the bathroom.

“How are you feeling?”

“I had to use a bedpan,” he complained. He tried to relax but at the risk of jostling his arm, he was at the mercy of his upright position.

“Comes with the territory.” Spencer pulled a chair up to the side of the bed, sitting dangerously close to his bandaged arm. They wouldn’t put an actual cast on it for a week or so, depending on how the incision healed. “How’s your pain?”

“If I said eight, would you think I’m being dramatic?”

“Not at all. The nurse told me you were crying out in your sleep. If the pain meds aren’t working, you have to let your doctor know.”

Gerard nodded and refrained from rolling his eyes. “This ain’t my first rodeo,” he said dryly as he looked up at the ceiling. He knew Spencer had read through his file but he’d never asked about the specifications of his injuries. And he wouldn’t. Gerard knew that. Spencer was professional and polite to a fault. Like every other personal thing Gerard had kept from him, Spencer was waiting for Gerard to bring it up on his own. 

“Gerard.” Spencer leaned in closer. “I know you’re reluctant to take anything stronger but if the pain gets to be too much, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

Gerard glared at Spencer. “I’m not taking anything stronger.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to take a low dosage of something until the pain is manageable. You quit before. You could do it again.”

“You don’t know that.” Gerard shook his head. “And you don’t know me, not really. Otherwise, you wouldn’t suggest that.”

“I’ve known plenty of addicts. You’re strong. And you have a ton of people to support you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gerard said firmly. “We’re not talking about this,”

“Okay, okay.” Spencer put his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“It’s okay.” Gerard huffed as tears pricked at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m—it fucking hurts. I’m tired and I don’t want to be in this hospital anymore.” Wiping at his eyes, Gerard stared at the ceiling to keep from crying. “Could you help me lie down?”

Spencer was gentle and Gerard felt better once he was flat on his back again. Before he left, Spencer kissed the top of his head. 

People popped in and out of his room constantly. Every time he woke, it seemed like someone different was checking on him. He lost track of the days and wasn’t sure how long he’d been there for, but he hoped he’d get to go home soon.

He opened his eyes to relative silence and was startled by a knock on the door. A figure entered and although the lights were dim, he thought it was Frank. The light came on and Gerard realized that it wasn’t Frank at all. It was Frank’s mom.

“Knock knock!” she chirped.

His heart leapt into his throat until he noticed her wearing hospital scrubs. Right. He knew she was a nurse but he’d missed the part where she worked at Gerard’s hospital. She smiled and pulled a chair to the side of the bed.

“Hi, honey? Remember me? I’m Frank’s mother.”

Gerard nodded. “Yeah. Hi Mrs. Iero.”

“Please, dear, call me Linda.” She flapped a hand at him in a manner similar to Frank. “Frankie told me you were here, so I brought him by to say hello. You were so kind to visit him when he was ill, I thought he should return the favour. I know how scary hospitals can be.”

“Frank’s here?”

“He’s parking the car. He’ll be here in a jiffy.”

Gerard nodded again. And again and again. Mostly he let her chatter away about the hospital staff as he contemplated her resemblance to Frank. It was uncanny. When she ran out of random things to say, she tilted her head and told him he looked tired. 

“Mom, jeez, I told you to wait.” Frank was out of breath.

“It’s okay, dear. Gerard and I were talking about him coming for dinner when he’s feeling better, weren’t we, Gerard?”

Frank’s eyes went wide as saucers as he met Gerard’s similar expression over his mom’s shoulder. When she turned back to Gerard, he schooled his face into an agreeable smile as Frank mouthed ‘sorry’ at him.

“Don’t you have to start work?” Frank scowled at his mom as he moved further into the room.

She looked at her watch. “I do. It was nice chatting with you, Gerard. I hope you feel better soon. I’ll pray for you tonight. That you have a quick recovery.” On her way out, she said to Frank, “Frankie, dear, don’t stay too long. Your friend needs his rest and we have church in the morning.”

“Yeah, ma,” Frank said through gritted teeth. He held the door open for her, ushering her out and keeping an eye on her as she disappeared down the hall. Satisfied she was gone, he gave Gerard a sympathetic look and took the seat at his bedside. “I’m so sorry. When I told her I wanted a lift to visit a friend she wouldn’t stop asking questions.”

“She was fine. I’m glad you’re here, though.”

Frank grinned into his lap and looked up at Gerard through his lashes. When he smiled like that, Gerard felt like everything was going to be okay.


	25. Mis-Shapes

Gerard rolled over, sweaty and craving a post-coital cigarette. He laid there in the dark, coming down from the tingles and heat ebbing through his body. There was a dull ache in his arm but he’d grown accustomed to ignoring it.

A week had passed since his release from the hospital. For a few days, he recovered at home, the pain in his wrist tear-jerking. Mid-week the padded splint was replaced by a hard cast that didn’t make him cry every time he bumped his arm on something. 

He went back to work keen on not asking for help. If he could teach classes he sure as fuck didn’t need help getting dressed or to be chauffeured around. It wasn’t easy. The surgery had left him weak and exhausted, both physically and mentally. The guys quietly picked up his slack around the house, cleaning and grocery shopping without a word; they knew better than to ask if he needed anything. Food and coffee appeared, his clothes were magically clean and Mikey got up early to see Gerard off to work. A careful balance of assistance without acknowledgment. 

And then there was the art show he had to prepare for. Every spare minute of the last week had been spent packing up paintings and meeting with people from the gallery to hash out the finer details. Truthfully, Mikey and Brendon did most of the physical work while Gerard fretted over everything else.

“Why are we the ones doing all the grunt work?” Mikey set a painting down to push his glasses back into place and give Gerard a pointed look. Gerard stopped pacing and pulled his hand away from his mouth, incredulous. “Because I’m injured? And you love me?”

“I think what he means is, why isn’t Dr. McHottie helping out?” Brendon wiped the sweat from his brow. “Or your pint-sized, _not_ boyfriend?”

“Spencer’s a doctor! He works like seventy hours a week. I’m not asking him to spend his free time doing manual labour.”

“If he’s your boyfriend, isn’t that his job?” Mikey asked.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Okay. What about Frank?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend, either. And I’m not asking him to help.”

“You’re seeing him again and don’t think I forgot about what you said in the hospital before your surgery,” Mikey said.

Gerard scowled at Mikey and went back to biting his nails without a reply.

“What happened in the hospital?” Brendon asked, head whipping back and forth between them. 

“Nothing.” Gerard threatened Mikey with a look that would hopefully keep him quiet.

“Are you getting back together?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what about Spencer?”

“I don’t know!” Gerard blurted out. “I don’t know what I want!” He waved his hands in the air, cast and all. He grimaced and continued to gesture with his good hand. “I can’t ask Frank to come running whenever I need something because he will. No matter what. And I feel guilty about it. He wants to get back together but I—I just don’t know yet. And all of this other shit is going on and what about Spencer? He knows all about Frank and he wants to keep dating anyway and sometimes I wish he’d break it off already because I’m not good for him. I know I’m not being fair to him or Frank, I get that. I don’t deserve either of them for all the fucking”—he flapped a hand, struggling to find the words—“waffling going on in my head. I deserve to be alone.”

Mikey grabbed him by the shoulders to interrupt his rant. “Gee, you come first. Maybe you should take some time alone. Not because you deserve it but because this is all in your fucking head. Figure out what you want and talk to them, okay? It’s good you’re taking time to think it over but you’re making yourself crazy over it.”

Gerard took a moment to catch his breath. What the fuck _did_ he want? Frank had been really sweet while Gerard was in the hospital but he hadn’t seen him since he’d been released. Frank had been busy with work. Or so he said. In fact, Frank had backed off substantially and Gerard missed him. It felt like they were stuck in this fucked up zone where guilt prevented Gerard from asking Frank for anything and Frank continued to tiptoe around him like Gerard talking to him was enough. It wasn’t enough.

He laid there, still in the dark, now shivering as sweat cooled on his skin and it hit him. Whatever this was, it wasn’t working.

The toilet flushed down the hall. Too cold to lay there in the buff, Gerard sat up and wrestled with the blankets until he was covered. The light flicked on and Gerard flinched at the brightness. Spencer chuckled as he got into bed.

“This is new,” Spencer motioned at Gerard curled against the headboard. “Are you actually staying?”

Gerard always left. Sure, they’d throw quips back and forth as Gerard searched for his underwear but he never got under the blankets and he certainly never got cozy afterwards. Gerard opened his mouth to answer and then thought better of it.

Spencer tilted his head. “Have you figured out what you want yet?”

“Yeah,” Gerard said bitterly. “I want a fucking cigarette.” He scratched at the nicotine patch stuck to his arm.

“If you’ve had that on all day I wouldn’t recommend it. Smoking right now would probably make you sick.”

“Thanks, doctor,” he replied dryly. He continued to pick at the edge of it and wondered how long he’d have to wait if he pulled it off now. The idea of puking over it scared him enough to leave it on and ignore the itch in his fingers.

“Are you staying the night?” Spencer looked at him with hope sparkling in his eyes as he ran the back of his fingers down Gerard’s arm. Gerard stayed silent, carefully watching the pathway of Spencer’s hand. Spencer sighed and tugged on Gerard’s fingers. “I can’t help but feel like you’re giving me mixed signals here. You said you wanted to come over to talk and yet here we are.”

“What can I say? You’re a good lay.” Gerard tried to smile but it came out all slanted and half-hearted.

Spencer let out a frustrated noise and had the nerve to hit Gerard in the face with a pillow. “Gerard Way, you have got to work on your pillow talk,” Spencer scolded him.

“I’m sorry. Sex is easier than talking.”

“What are you trying to say?” Gerard bit his lip and stared down at Spencer holding his hand.

“Oh, now I get it.” Spencer touched Gerard’s chin to force a meeting of their eyes. “You’re not getting weird because you’re staying over, you’re getting weird because you’re not and you feel shitty about it. Am I getting warmer?”

“No.” Gerard scowled back at him. “Ugh, yeah. Maybe.” He had the prettiest eyes. Why was this so hard?

“Fine. I’ll say it then—Gerard, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” Spencer added, “For sex, anyway.”

Gerard frowned. “That’s what I was gonna say.”

“I know.” Spencer sighed and climbed out of bed. “But you’re having a hell of a time finding the words.”

“I’m sorry.” Gerard watched him but he wouldn’t meet Gerard’s eyes.

“So, did you decide to get back together with your ex before or after you came here for sex? Cause either way, that’s a pretty shitty thing to do to both of us.”

Gerard jerked up and the blankets fell away. “I haven’t decided anything. I’m fucking confused and keeping this up is not helping me figure it out. That’s why it needs to stop. I’m trying to be honest with you.”

“Yeah, well… I’m getting sick of this weird-ass love triangle.” He started picking up Gerard’s clothes and tossing them on the bed.

“ _Bizarre_ Love Triangle,” Gerard corrected him.

“Huh?” Spencer frowned as he handed him his jeans.

“Never mind.” Gerard shook his head as pulled on his underwear. “Spencer, I’m really sorry about this. You’re upset.”

Spencer made a noise and tossed Gerard’s t-shirt at him. “Of course, I’m upset. But you’re right—it’s better this way. I’d rather be a little hurt now than a lot hurt later and I certainly don’t want to end up miserable like your ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh_ ,” Spencer repeated. “I told you—I like you a lot. I’d rather not end up hating you when you break my heart and I can see that’s where this is heading.”

Gerard finished dressing in silence. Spencer threw on a pair of shorts so he could walk Gerard to the door.

When Spencer wouldn’t look at him, he sighed and said, “The art show’s this weekend.” Gerard bit his lip and gave Spencer a cautious look. “I don’t expect you to come but I’d like it if you did. I’d still like to be friends.”

Spencer’s face softened and he looked at the floor. “I’ll think about it.”

Gerard let out a long breath as he waited for the elevator. He felt terrible about hurting Spencer. And guilty. But it was also a huge relief to have that particular weight lifted and he didn’t doubt that he’d made the right decision.

*

Gerard tossed his eyeliner pencil into the sink and cursed. He pushed his face up close to the mirror and wiped the crooked line from his face. He might be able to fake-it with his left-hand painting in abstract, but he sure as hell couldn’t put on make-up properly. The cast restricted his fingers to the point that he couldn’t get a good grip on the pencil. 

He studied his sallow face for a moment and sighed into the mirror. “Plan B, motherfucker,” he said to his reflection. “Mikey!” Gerard stood in his doorway and yelled again, “Miiiii-keeeey!”.

Mikey’s bedroom door opened. “What? Jesus…”

“I need help with my eyeliner.”

“Sure. Gimme a minute.”

Gerard went back into his bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror, making faces until his brother came to his rescue.

“Ooh, looking good, Gee.” Vickie craned her neck around Mikey to give Gerard a once over.

He’d changed clothes several times. The one suit jacket he owned wouldn’t fit over his cast but he figured his leather jacket would be warm enough. He couldn’t do up the sleeve of his white button-up either, so he’d pushed them up to his elbows. He found a nice vest to wear instead but it didn’t match his dress pants, so had to swap them out for another pair. At least his tie was a perfect match to his hot pink cast.

“What are you doing in my room?” He narrowed his eyes at Vickie.

“Supervising.”

Gerard bit his tongue and handed Mikey his eyeliner pencil. “Not too thick. Just a little, y’know?”

“I know, I know,” Mikey muttered. “It’s not like I haven’t done this before. Hold still.” While Gerard posed, Mikey expertly lined his eyes in black kohl. He finished in a flash. “You’re welcome.”

Gerard turned to inspect his work in the mirror. “Thanks, Mikey.”

*

Before the gallery doors opened, Gerard paced the room making sure every frame was straight. Caterers set up drinks and hors d’oeuvre stations, politely ignoring him. The sounds of clinking glasses and tapping shoes echoed through the cavernous room and Gerard found the anticipation making him anxious.

He slipped out the back door to smoke in the alley. The nicotine patches had lasted five days. Last night, in a fit of frustration, he’d ripped the final one off and lit a cigarette. Then he puked. He should have waited at least a few hours but he’d been desperate. It happened so quickly he didn’t have time to panic about it, although his nerves were frayed for the rest of the night. If he ever tried to quit again, he was going cold turkey.

He smoked frantically, unable to calm down. He had a million reasons to be nervous. His mind was racing. He’d invited both Spencer and Frank but wasn’t sure either one of them would show. Spencer had been understandably silent since Gerard had more or less broken up with him and he’d been so busy he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Frank. Well, maybe he’d been avoiding Frank. He wasn’t sure what to say to him.

Abby found him on his second cigarette and ushered him inside. Mikey had arrived and brought with him the memorial board the family had put together, a huge collage of pictures of his grandmother. He hugged Mikey harder than intended.

“Nervous?” Mikey asked.

“A little,” Gerard admitted. “But also excited for everyone to see her work. It’s hard to do this without her here.”

Mikey put his arms around him and kissed the side of his head. “She’d be so proud of you, Gee.”

“Shit.” Gerard pulled away, wiping at his eyes. “Don’t make me cry, asshole.” Mikey nudged him with a shoulder and asked where he should set up the board.

Their parents arrived early with Brendon in tow. With Brendon officially living with them, his mom doted on him like one of the family. Sometimes she referred to him as her only grandson and Gerard felt both guilty and terrified. He thought about Vickie and the secret she was trying to hide. His mom was going to lose her mind when she found out. Mikey was probably banking on her joy at the news of her first grandchild overshadowing the fact that Vickie was back in his life.

When the doors opened, the gallery was slow to fill with patrons. Gerard bounced on his toes, searching for familiar faces. There were plenty. He got so involved talking to people he didn’t have time to think. The crowd was a solid mix of art lovers and those who knew either Gerard or his grandmother. All his art school friends came by. A bunch of Gerard’s students showed up. He spent an hour being shuffled back and forth between questions and comments. In a sad twist of fate, his grandmother’s death had given him the showing he’d always fantasized about in art school. But he knew she’d have been proud of him.

Once full, the room was cramped and loud and Gerard was sweating in his suit. While he couldn’t pick his family members out amongst the crowd, Mikey always seemed to know when his club soda was low and would pop by with a fresh glass. It grated on his self-control—waiters at an arm’s reach with glasses of bubbly champagne. But he reigned it in and focussed on the art.

Someone slid their arm over his shoulders and whispered into his ear, “Your hot doctor’s here.” Brendon turned them around so Gerard could see Spencer across the room. “Since you don’t want him, mind if I have a go?”

“Good luck, Bren—he’s twice your age.” Gerard elbowed Brendon off his shoulder as Abby waved at him from across the room. “Shit. Can you go entertain him? And please keep the drama to a minimum—I’m fucking nervous enough as it is.” 

With a gleeful smile, Brendon bounded off and Gerard made his way to Abby.

When he finally got a minute, he found Brendon and Spencer standing in front of one of Gerard’s—a painting of Frank. Practically naked. Gerard had sketched him enough times that putting him on canvas like that was inevitable. Thank God Spencer didn’t know what Frank looked like.

“Do you like it?” Gerard asked, startling them both from behind.

They both turned with twinned grins on their faces.

“He’s very naked.” Spencer’s blue eyes danced with amusement. 

Gerard leaned in for a hug, aborting at the last minute to put a hand through his hair instead. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.” He smiled awkwardly. 

“I couldn’t miss it, not your grandmother’s show.” Spencer leaned in and said, “Besides, I wanted to meet this Adonis who has stolen you away from me,” before kissing Gerard’s cheek. Gerard’s face heated up and he had to look away.

“You guys are too cute,” Brendon said, “I’ll be back in a jiffy!”

Spencer laughed and they watched Brendon dart off into the crowd.

“He’s available, you know.”

“The kid? Not a chance.”

“That’s what I told him?”

“He asked about me?”

“He calls you Dr. McHottie.”

Spencer shook his head and tugged on Gerard’s tie. “I like your tie.”

Up close Spencer’s powder blue shirt made the colour of his eyes pop and sparkle. Gerard got a whiff of his fancy cologne and asked, “Are you enjoying the show?”

Spencer’s face lit up as he nodded. “Yeah. Your grandmother’s work is amazing. I’m biased, I know, but your paintings are brilliant too. You got her vision, you know? And then you went and elevated it. There’s layers of both of you—you can see it. It’s unique.” His voice quieted. “I bought one, you know.”

“You did? I would have given you one for nothing,” Gerard said. “Which one did you buy?”

Spencer opened his mouth to answer and then thought better of it. “You have to guess. I’ll give you a hint, though.” Spencer pointed at the painting in front of them. “It’s not the one of your ex-boyfriend naked on a cross.”

Gerard’s mouth gaped open. “Ah, fuck! Brendon told you, didn’t he?” Gerard put a hand on his hip.

“Nope.” Spencer shook his head. “I already met him.”

Gerard’s stomach dropped and he scanned the room. “He’s here?”

“You haven’t seen him yet?”

“No.” Gerard bit his lip as anxiety pooled in his gut. “He said he had to work. I didn’t think he was coming.” 

Kindly, Spencer said, “You should go find him.”

Gerard nodded mindlessly. “Thanks.”

He made a full two laps of the room, getting tugged this way and that, chatting nonstop with admirers in his search for Frank. Ironically, he found him in the same spot where he’d left Spencer, staring up at the very same painting of himself, naked on a cross. The universe was cruel but Gerard was getting used to it.

Gerard watched him for a few heart-pounding minutes before he approached. Frank didn’t seem surprised when Gerard came to stand by his side and nudged him with his shoulder.

“You’re here.”

“I switched shifts at work.” Frank tugged his lip ring into his mouth as he gave Gerard a once over. When his gaze got uncomfortable, Gerard elbowed him again and he laughed.

“Do you like the painting?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Frank quirked an eyebrow. “But, you think I’m Jesus?” He shot Gerard one of his flirty smiles and Gerard’s stomach swooped. “Just because you called me that when we were”—

“Frank!” Gerard scolded him. “You really like it? It doesn’t make you uncomfortable or anything?”

“Gerard, I like the painting. I don’t get it but I like it,” Frank said. “Could have done away with the loincloth though. I’m not embarrassed for people to see my junk, not when it’s all artistic like this.” Frank gestured at the painting. “You did Pansy proud though.”

The painting was a modern representation of a religious painting from the Renaissance. Frank was nailed to the cross like Jesus—crown of thorns in his hair and his tattooed skin bare for the world to see. His beloved guitar lay on the ground and his worshippers were punk-ed out fans in various states of despair. Gerard had started with his grandmother’s bare-bones painting of a cross and figures bowing and given it his own personal religious treatment.

“It’s like, the longer I look at it, the more I see.” Frank squinted his eyes and made a face. “It makes me feel things, I don’t even know…”

“I think that means you like it.” Gerard knocked their elbows together.

“I love it.” Frank reached out to touch but stopped short. “What’s with the sticker? At the bottom.” Frank pointed but Gerard didn’t need to look to understand what he was asking.

“Red means it’s sold or not for sale. Only the green ones are for sale.”

“Somebody bought it already? Seriously?” Frank frowned and chewed his lip ring into his mouth. “How much did you sell it for?”

“Why, you want a cut?” Gerard joked.

“Maybe I would have bought it. Not now, but if I ever have money.”

“Is it something you’d want?”

“I barely have a wall to hang it on, let alone the money to buy it.” Frank gave him a desperate look. “But I love it. It’s… you’re so brave, Gee. You put yourself out there and fuck what anyone else thinks.”

Gerard leaned into Frank’s shoulder. “It’s just a painting.”

“Not just the art—everything. You’re so fucking brave and I’m such a coward.”

“What do you mean?”

Frank shook his head and muttered, “What if it’s the last thing we have together?”

Gerard made a pained noise. “Don’t say shit like that.” The look Frank fired back was pathetic, to say the least. “I need a smoke. C’mon.” Gerard motioned with his head and Frank said, “I thought you were quitting,” as he followed behind. Gerard flashed him a warning look as he led them through the gallery.

The cool air felt good after the heat of the crowd. Gerard lit two cigarettes and passed one to Frank. He was getting good at smoking with his left hand. On his first exhale he sighed dramatically, blowing a long stream of smoke out the side of his mouth. Frank smoked tensely, taking short puffs and flicking his eyes from Gerard’s face all the way down to his Chucks. The corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile.

“You look good tonight, Gee. And not just the getup. You’re glowing. You seem happy.” Frank took a drag and gave Gerard a long look. “Are you?”

“About the show, yeah.” Gerard kicked at the ground. “People seem to like the paintings and some of mine sold, so yeah, I’m happy about that.”

“And all the”—Frank waved his cigarette around—“other stuff?”

“Other stuff?” Gerard made a noncommittal noise and took another drag before answering. “I dunno.”

“Are you happy with Spencer?” Frank’s voice got quiet, “Do you love him?”

“I told you—it’s not like that. It was never like that,” Gerard said. “Besides, I broke it off. We’re not dating or… whatever, anymore.”

“Then why’s he here?” Frank crossed his arms, frowning.

“He likes my grandmother’s art.” Frank scowled harder and stared at the ground. Gerard flung a hang in the air, ashes from his smoke drifting away. “Frank, he’s a nice guy and we’re friends! Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, but—when did you break up?”

“A few days ago.”

“Oh.” Frank risked a glance at Gerard. “Were you gonna tell me?”

“I haven’t seen you all week—I’m telling you now. I’m sorry.” Gerard reached out and then quickly retracted his hand with a pained face. “I knew what you would think if I called you up just to tell you that.”

“What would I think?”

“That I did it because of you.”

“So, you didn’t.” Frank shrugged and said, “That’s fine,” but his face said the opposite. He looked crushed.

Quietly, Gerard said, “Frank, I’m scared.”

“I’m scared too.” Frank took a step closer. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Frank, you’re not going to lose me,” Gerard said desperately. His chest felt tight. “I want you. You know that.” He shook his head to keep the tears at bay. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“So? Tell me how we uncomplicate it? I don’t know what more you want from me. This is it—this is me. I’m kind of fucked but I’m working on it. I’m starting to feel like no matter how hard I try you’re never going to trust me again. And fine—I get it. If that’s too much, I understand. I just—I need to know. It’s fucking killing me.”

“I’m sorry.” Gerard made a pained face and reached out just shy of taking Frank’s hand. They got caught in each other’s gaze until Frank made a frustrated noise and shook his head in reply, tossing his butt to the ground. 

Gerard expected him to storm off but instead, he stepped in and kissed him. It was harsh and Frank’s lips felt so warm against his. The impact sent Gerard stumbling backwards and Frank caught him. They kept moving until Gerard was against the wall and Frank had a hand on the back of his head.

Once the shock of the action subsided, Gerard opened his mouth and Frank slipped in his tongue. It was heated and frantic and Gerard dissolved right into it. His body was thrumming, the sensations buzzing through his limbs and down to his toes. Frank made desperate noises into Gerard’s mouth and he clung to his jacket like it was a life preserver.

It was intense and too much at once. Gerard gently pushed Frank back and told him to stop. A giddy lightness lifted his chest, a feeling he hadn’t experienced for a long time. Frank panted like his breath was strained and flashed Gerard the saddest eyes.

“Not now, okay?” Gerard brushed his fingers through Frank’s hair in a soothing way.

“Not now meaning later? Or never? Because if it’s never…” Frank tugged Gerard closer by his waist. “Gerard, I can’t do this anymore,” he said desperately. “You realize we’ve been split up longer than we were together?”

“It doesn’t feel like that.” Gerard sighed and kept stroking Frank’s hair. “I have to get back to the show. Come inside with me and we’ll talk later, okay?”

Frank shook his head and stepped back, letting Gerard’s hand fall through the air. “I have to go.” He chewed on his lip ring and wouldn’t meet Gerard’s gaze. He tucked his hands in his pockets and hunched over.

“Frank,” Gerard pleaded. “Don’t be like that, please. I’m trying. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Frank huffed and stepped forward, taking Gerard’s hands between his. “Gerard, I’m not mad. This isn’t me storming off, I promise. I have to work early tomorrow morning—at the guitar shop. It was the only way I could get tonight off.” 

“Okay.” It wasn’t the best excuse. Gerard took it even though he didn’t want Frank to leave. “Can I see you tomorrow? We can go for dinner. To talk.”

“I’m working all day. Then I have to take my mom to some church thing.”

“Sunday, then. Please.” Gerard grabbed the sleeve of his jacket to stop him from backing away. “Frank, I love you. I do. I want to start over. Let’s start over.”

Frank’s eyes snapped up. “You realize that the first time you’ve said that to me?’

“I know,” Gerard said softly. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Do you mean it? Really?” He bit his lip ring into his mouth. 

Gerard nodded. 

“Say it again,” Frank said in a whisper.

“I love you.” He pulled Frank closer. He wanted this separation to be over. He wanted Frank back. They kissed, more tenderly this time and Gerard broke it off before it got too heated. “Sunday night. Go on a date with me.”

“Okay. Yeah.” Frank kissed him once more, chastely on the mouth before pulling away. “Can I call you later?” 

“Yes. You can always call me.” 

Gerard watched until Frank had disappeared into the night.

Kissing Frank had been a bad idea. Or had Frank started the kissing? Gerard couldn’t remember but he could still taste Frank in his mouth as he wandered back into the gallery. While his relationship with Frank went beyond sex, being teased like that made it near impossible to walk away. He had butterflies in his stomach and his legs felt like jelly. His heart pounded restlessly and his dick didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne flutes and Gerard considering taking one. But he let them pass him by, watching as his breath evened out.

To his relief, the crowd had thinned. All he wanted was to go home to bed. Shower and maybe have a cry over his fucked up relationships. Jerk off. Maybe not in that order. He scanned the room. Once again, Spencer was standing in front of Frank on the cross. Fuck his life. With bated breath, Gerard approached.

“Frank was not at all what I expected.” Spencer motioned at the painting.

“What do you mean?”

“The way you talk about him, I had pictured a strapping, six-packed prince with a winning smile and perfect charm. He’s really just a sad, tiny man with too many tattoos. I thought I’d have to get all macho with him but he seems like a nice guy. I feel sorry for him.”

“He _is_ perfectly charming and does not have too many tattoos. He’s having a rough time, no thanks to me.” Gerard frowned and flicked Spencer’s arm. “I’d rather you made nice than have a pissing contest.”

“Yeah, I know,” Spencer agreed. “I’m not that macho, anyway.”

“What did you talk about?”

“As if you have to ask?” Spencer raised a brow. “We talked about you, of course.”

Gerard narrowed his eyes. “Details, Smith.”

Spencer sighed like responding was a burden. “He said he cares about you and he wanted me to know how special you are, blah, blah, blah. He seemed resigned. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s giving you up this easily. He more or less gave me his blessing to keep you all to myself. I guess you didn’t tell him that you dumped me already?”

“He’s not giving up.” Gerard snorted. “He kissed me in the alley.”

Spencer laughed. “He’s good.” 

“I told him that we broke up and asked him out on a date.” Gerard gave Spencer a careful glance. “To start over.”

“After everything, are you sure about him?”

“No. But I need to find out.”

“Well… good for you,” Spencer said, resigned.

“I am sorry about all this.”

“I’ll get over it. Besides, the way he looks at you, Gerard? He’s miserable. I told you—I don’t want that.” Spencer nudged Gerard’s shoulder and nodded across the room. “See that guy over there? He’s been checking me out all night. I’m gonna go say, ‘hi’ and see where we end up.”

“Brendon’s gonna be disappointed.”

“Tell Brendon he can call me when he’s old enough to buy me a drink.”

Gerard laughed and called out, “Good luck,” as Spencer walked away. Spencer turned back around long enough to flap at dismissive hand at Gerard and expose his blushed cheeks.

It was another couple of hours before Gerard was able to leave the gallery. He had sent his loved ones off earlier so he drove home alone in the comfortable peace of his car. Since he couldn’t safely steer and smoke with a cast on one arm, he smoked in the driveway before creeping into the kitchen.

When Gerard came through the door, Vickie popped up from the refrigerator and startled him. He cursed, “Jesus, fucking, Christ!” as she stood bathed in the light from the open door. She had a bag of marshmallows in one hand, a bottle of hot sauce in the other and a guilty look on her face. 

Gerard stared her down and finally asked, “Are you pregnant?”

Her eyes went wide and scared. Vickie threw a mean punch but Gerard had never seen that look on her face. Fear. Then she blinked and brushed it away, shooting Gerard a hard glare.

“Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me I’m fat?” She shut the fridge door, taking her midnight snack to the dining table. Gerard sighed as he toed off his shoes and awkwardly shed his jacket. He poured himself a glass of water, crossed the room and fell into the seat across from her. She gave him a sneer as she tore into the bag of marshmallows. Gerard drank his water and waited.

“You’re such a jerk.” She ate a marshmallow, studying it after every bite. When it was gone, she said, “Don’t tell Mikey.”

“Vic, he’s not an idiot—he already knows.”

“Fuck,” she muttered. She dabbed some hot sauce on another marshmallow and Gerard gagged when she stuck the entire thing in her mouth. “What?” she muffled through a mouth stuffed full, “Like I haven’t seen you eat Doritos off the floor.” 

“I was drunk.”

“Yeah, well… drunk, pregnant—same difference.”

“Whatever you need, we’re here for you.” Gerard tried to take her hand and she slapped it away.

“Fuck you. You don’t even like me.”

“Mikey loves you. And I love him. So, if you wanna be a part of his life then you’re stuck with me too.” She made a face and put even more hot sauce on the third marshmallow. 

“I don’t even know if I’m keeping it.”

“Talk to Mikey.”

“You can’t help me. Nobody can help me now that I’ve got this thing inside of me.”

“You can talk to me. If you need money, a place to stay, a doctor… anything.”

She huffed and made some acrobatic moves with her eyebrows but Gerard felt as though he’d gotten through. He risked patting her hand as he got up and went to bed. He had a busy weekend ahead.


	26. Being Followed Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, this is the last chapter (there will be an epilogue) and it's long! So be prepared!

The day after the art show, Gerard headed into the gallery and spent the afternoon saying good-bye to his grandmother’s works that were headed to new homes. Not only had most of hers sold, Gerard had some sales as well. Abby handed him a big, fat cheque—he’d made a surprising amount of money. When she asked what he was going to do with it, his first thoughts were his ageing house and a savings account for his unborn niece or nephew. Then he felt old.

He took two paintings with him when he left. More would follow but that was all he could fit in his car. The infamous Frank-on-the-cross piece, which Gerard had never intended to sell, and the one Spencer had purchased. He had a few guesses but didn’t know for certain which one it was, as it had been carefully wrapped for delivery. 

He’d arranged to drop Spencer’s off in person to work on mending their friendship. When he arrived, Spencer hefted the canvas from his arms and ushered Gerard inside, complaining, “You didn’t have to bring it all the way up.”

“Little awkward, but I managed.” Gerard closed the door behind him and shimmied out of his jacket, dumping it over the back of a chair. Spencer started peeling back the brown packing paper and then stopped abruptly. “Did you peek?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have a guess?” Spencer stepped aside and motioned at the package. When Gerard gave it an intense stare, Spencer snorted and said, “Are you communing with it psychically?”

“Something like that.” Gerard touched his hand to the corner. “I’ve got it narrowed down to either ‘Heartache’ or ‘Camouflage’. If you bought any of my awful self-portraits, I’m going to be disappointed in you.”

Spencer met Gerard with a look of embarrassment.

“You didn’t?” Gerard said incredulously. “A self-portrait?”

“No, no.” Spencer waved his hands in the air. “They were great, though. I spent so much time studying the paintings, I didn’t pay attention to the titles. I’m sorry. No offence?”

Gerard grinned. “Not at all. So, um, ‘Camouflage’ is the snowscape with the dead antler people and ‘Heartache’ is the one with the weird kids with the like, gory, enlarged hearts.”

“Crap, you’re good.” Spencer frowned as he tore the wrapping away with a flourish. “It’s the first one. It really grabbed me at the show.” He crossed his arms and gave Gerard a careful look. “Are you sure you didn’t cheat?”

“You seem to have a thing for landscapes and the colours go well with your living room. It is a good choice, though.” Gerard stood back and appreciated the care Spencer took removing the last bits of paper. “Is that where you’re hanging it?”

“Yeah, definitely. I was hoping you’d have some suggestions.” Spencer hesitated before he continued, “Uh, you want to stay for dinner? We can order in and you can help me decide where to hang it? I’ve made a mess of the big wall in the living room already.”

Gerard ran a hand through his hair and dodged Spencer’s gaze. “Yeah, sure.”

“And then I’ll tell you about the guy I boned last night and you can tell me how nervous you are about going out with Frank tomorrow.”

“I’m not nervous.” Spencer gave him a look and he conceded. “Yeah, okay. But I’m buying.” Gerard retrieved his phone from his jacket. “I know how much you spent on the painting.”

Gerard called the local Thai place to place an order and then wandered into the living room area. All the paintings from Spencer’s massive wall of art had been taken down and were spread out on the floor.

“Ooh, shit.”

“Yeah. I took everything off down”—Spencer waved a hand at the bare ivory wall—“to redo it and make room for the new one. Start from scratch. That guy I met last night, he’s coming over tomorrow.”

“So, not just a one-off? You wanna impress him?”

Spencer shrugged. “C’mon, you must know by now I’m no good at casual.”

“I know,” Gerard said guiltily as he perched on the arm of the sofa. “What’s he like, then?”

Spencer thought it over and said, “Smart but not too serious. His apartment was sparse but at least it was tidy. I think he’s outdoorsy. I’m not sure how to feel about that.” Spencer made a face and then smiled through it. “He has a ridiculously beautiful collie named Buttercup. And honestly? At this point, I’m willing to stick with it just for the dog.”

Gerard laughed and thought about Frank. He went nuts over every frigging dog on the street no matter how ugly it was. Now he’d be forced to make friends with Gerard’s cats. “What does he do?”

“He’s a psychologist. He has his own practice not far from the hospital.”

“Well, he must be cool if he’s into art. Did he enjoy the show?”

“Um…” Spencer hesitated. “Yeah, he had a good time.”

“C’mon, I’m not gonna be offended if he didn’t like it. Art is totally subjective.”

Spencer gave Gerard a careful look. “He asked if you were in therapy.”

Gerard squawked out a noise of disbelief as his eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“He _is_ a psychologist.” Spencer folded his arms across his chest. “C’mon, there’s nothing wrong with therapy. I even see someone once in a while. With the stuff I have to deal with? I work the ER—it’s not mandatory but it should be. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know that,” Gerard said grumpily resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist for so long we’re on a first-name basis.”

“Oh, well… that’s great. You never told me that.”

Gerard sighed. “I guess it’s lumped in there with all the other stuff we’ve never talked about.”

Spencer hummed and looked thoughtful for a moment. “So, if I had dumped you sooner, I would have gotten a lot more out of you? That’s a little backwards but I hope you’ll talk to me more, now that we’re friends?”

“I’m gonna try. But I can’t guarantee I won’t drive you nuts once in a while.” Gerard flashed him a grin.

“Speaking of nuts, when’s your date with Frank?”

“You’re not funny.” Gerard attempted to shove Spencer off the sofa and nearly lost his balance. Spencer laughed as he fought him off and said, “Sorry. I’ll be nice.”

Gerard sighed and scratched his hand under his cast. “We’re going out tomorrow night. I want to do something nice for him. I’ve got a couple of ideas but he’s too easy to please. We always did stuff I wanted to do and he just went along with it and never complained.”

“Maybe that’s all he wants—to spend time with you.”

Gerard swatted at Spencer’s shoulder and said, “Ugh, shut up.” To distract from the burning in his cheeks, he wandered across the room to survey the art pieces all over the floor. It _was_ a mess. Then he spotted the ladder and a bunch of weird tools. “You’re seriously gonna hang these all by yourself?”

“Hey, I’m handy with a drill.” Spencer picked up a tool that was most definitely not a drill and turned it over in his hands.

Gerard bit his lip to keep his dirty jokes to himself but Spencer gave him a flat look anyway. “I didn’t say anything!” Gerard waved his hands in the air and Spencer countered with, “I hope you’re not scared of heights.”

Somehow, he persuaded Gerard to climb the twelve-foot ladder—‘a broken arm, Spencer! I’ve only got one good arm!’—while Spencer supervised. He paced the room, contemplating the arrangement from every possible point of view. Gerard was pretty sure it was payback for all the crap he’d put Spencer through so he didn’t complain once. He endured nearly an hour of ‘that one’—‘no, that one’ and ‘higher’—‘no, higher’—‘now lower’. Both of his arms hurt from holding up canvasses and the height was making him dizzy.

A shrill sound echoed through the room, startling them both. “Sorry, that’s my phone. Mikey put that ringtone on it and I don’t know how to make it stop. It’s probably the food.”

Spencer laughed and pointed at Gerard teetering at the very top of the ladder. “You stay there. I’ll grab it.”

“Oh, it might be my mom,” Gerard called out. “I meant to call her this morning about the show but I forgot.”

“If it’s your mom, I’m _so_ going to answer it!” Spencer gave him an evil grin and hurried across the room.

“No, wait!” Gerard cried out as Spencer scooped the phone off the counter. “Who is it? Is it my mom? It should say on the screen who’s calling.”

Spencer gave him a wry look. “Thanks. I do know how a cell phone works.” He read the screen and looked up with bright eyes. “Unknown caller.”

“Go ahead. It’s probably the Thai place.” Gerard flapped a hand at him.

“Gerard Way’s answering service, how may I direct your call?” Spencer gave Gerard a saucy look to go with his uppity tone. His expression flattened out into a frown. “Hang on, hang on. He’s here.” He crossed the room. “It’s not dinner. I think it’s Frank.” 

Gerard reached out for the phone and complained when Spencer set it on the coffee table instead of handing it to him. “Come down first or you’ll break your neck.” Spencer secured the bottom of the ladder as Gerard scrambled down.

His heart hammered in his chest. He wanted it to be Frank. Out of work early and eager to see him? His foot slipped on a rung and Spencer had him by the waist before he could fall. He mumbled out a ‘thanks’ as Spencer passed him his phone.

“Hello?” Gerard’s stomach was in knots. “Frank?”

“Gee, sorry—this is a bad time, right? I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet and scratchy like he had a cold. There was a lot of noise in the background—traffic and whooshing wind—that made him hard to hear.

“Frank, no, not at all,” Gerard rushed his words. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not. What’s going on? Where are you?” 

Frank breathed into the phone. “I had to get out of the house. My mom was bitching at me and we started arguing and I didn’t want to fight with her. I don’t have my fucking coat. Would you be able to—I mean, I don’t know where else to go.”

“I’m coming to get you,” Gerard said firmly. “Tell me where you are.”

“A 7-Eleven. If you’re busy, I can wait.”

“What 7-Eleven?”

“The one on Union. Near the park.”

“Okay, I know it. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Frank gave him a heartfelt, ‘thanks’ and hung up.

With wild eyes, Gerard looked at Spencer and said, “Fuck. I have to go.”

Spencer replied, “I know, I heard.” He walked Gerard to the door and helped him with his jacket. “It’s fine. All the more spring rolls for me.”

“I’ll call you, okay? We can hang out some other time.” Gerard frantically patted his pockets, searching for his keys. 

“It’s cool. Go rescue your man.” Spencer opened the front door and waved Gerard out.

He took the highway. With light traffic and a lead foot, he made it to the convenience store in ten minutes. As he steered into the parking lot, he spotted Frank leaning against the brick outside the store, knee bent and smoking like some teenager up to no good.

He parked in front and when Frank noticed him, he waved the hand holding the cigarette. He flicked it at the pavement and stuck his hands in his armpits, bouncing up and down a little like he was cold. Gerard hopped out, not bothering to take the keys out of the ignition. When he got close, he could see Frank’s eyes were all red and puffy like he’d been crying. 

“Shit, Frank, what happened?”

Frank shook his head in reply and Gerard quickly embraced him. Frank clung to him, burying his face in Gerard’s shoulder. His arms were bare—he was in a fucking t-shirt. How long had he been standing outside? When his teeth started chattering, Gerard pulled his jacket off and made Frank put it on. 

“Come on.” Gerard walked him to the passenger door. When he tried to get Frank inside, Frank wouldn’t let go. “You’re freezing—get in the car and I’ll put the heat on.” Frank reluctantly climbed in. Gerard reached over him to start the engine and crank the heater to high before sprinting around to the driver’s side.

“Thanks,” Frank stammered. His body shook so hard he had trouble getting words out. “I ran out of the house without my phone or wallet or anything. I had to bum change from a lady just to use the payphone.” Gerard held Frank’s hands, warming them between his usable one and Frank’s thigh. Even the denim was cold to the touch. “I tried to stay in the store but the kid working there kicked me out because I couldn’t buy anything.”

The heat blasting through the vents filled the car but Frank continued to shake. He needed a hot shower and a blanket. Gerard loved his car but the heater was on its last legs. He buckled them both in and hit the road, the windows rattling with drafts when he made aggressive turns. Frank’s extreme silence was worrying but Gerard didn’t ask, just focussed on getting them home.

By the time he pulled into his driveway, Frank’s cheeks were a rosy red, his blank stare fixed on the glovebox. Gerard had to prompt Frank to get out of the car and then hurried them inside.

The crack of his car keys hitting the table beside the front door was loud enough to draw out the cats. They shot into the room, tiny nails scraping across the hardwood floor as they came to greet Gerard. Gerard guessed that no one had been home for a while. Mikey was almost always at shows on Saturday nights and while he didn’t know what Brendon got up to on the weekends, he tried not to be overbearing about it.

The cats were demanding attention, so Gerard scooped them up—they were still small enough that he could easily hold them in one arm—and gave them kisses before offering them to Frank. Frank took Manon and cuddled him to his chest, patting him awkwardly with his other hand.

Frank gave Gerard a cautious look and said, “I can crash on your couch if you wanted to go back out.” He rubbed his nose in Manon’s fur like he was trying to keep it warm.

“Go back out? What are you talking about?” Marjorie was wiggling around, so Gerard set her down and when she took off, Manon struggled to free himself from Frank’s hold. Frank tucked his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere. And you need a hot shower.” Gerard urged Frank further into the living room. 

“You were with Spencer.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Nothing,” Frank muttered as Gerard followed him up the stairs.

When Gerard got Frank into his bedroom, he said, “I was helping him hang art. He bought one of my paintings last night so I dropped it off myself. Thought it was the least I could do after stringing him along and him being so cool about it.”

Frank replied, “Okay,” but spoke to the rug.

“Frank.” When Gerard couldn’t get his attention, he put his fingers on Frank’s chin, forcing him to look up. “I told you. Spencer and I aren’t”—Gerard waved his cast around, loath to mention sex, so he went with—“dating anymore. We’re friends, that’s it. I promise. Everything I said last night about starting over with you—I meant it.”

Frank clenched his jaw and quietly replied, “I know.” He pulled away and slipped off Gerard’s jacket. As he passed it over, their fingers touched and Frank’s hands were ice cold. There were goosebumps on his arms, the dark lines of his tattoos stark against his pale skin. Directing him into the en suite, Gerard said, “Hop in the shower. I’ll get you some warm clothes,” before closing the door behind him.

T-shirts and hoodies he had, but his pants were too big for Frank. He dug through the clothes in his closet—Frank had left clothing behind (that Gerard could never bring himself to discard) but the only items of Frank’s that remained were dirty and hidden away at the bottom of his laundry hamper where Gerard wouldn’t have to look at them. Brendon was closer in size, so he went into his room and borrowed a clean pair of sweatpants.

When he came back, there was no noise coming from the bathroom. No shower, no faucet running, and no rustling or movement of any kind. He tapped on the door and told Frank he had clothes for him. It took too long for Frank to answer and when he did, his voice came out garbled and choked. Gerard’s heart was thumping wildly so he leaned against the door to better hear him.

“Frank, are you okay? Can I come in?” He put a hand on the knob and waited.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” He sounded anything but fine. And it wasn’t a ‘no’ so Gerard gave him another warning before opening the door. Frank sat on the closed toilet seat wiping at his cheeks and failing miserably to hide his tears. He flapped one hand at Gerard and covered his eyes with the other. “I’m fine, I told you.”

Gerard’s breath caught in his throat. Frank never cried. Spitting angry, flustered, sometimes silent and morose, but Gerard had never seen him squeeze out a single tear. Maybe on the phone that one night, not that Frank had ever admitted it. It welled up in Gerard’s chest and he didn’t hesitate. He rushed in and pulled Frank into his arms. The angle was awkward so Gerard maneuvered them until he could sit on the edge of the tub, whacking his cast on the toilet in the process. The pain was sharp and he quickly pushed it away.

Frank did little to resist which said a lot about his state of mind. With a gentle hand on the back of his head, Gerard held Frank as he quietly lost control. Once Gerard settled, Frank’s tears flooded out, hot and damp into Gerard’s t-shirt. The only sound he made was the odd sniffle but his body was shaking so hard Gerard had to tighten his grip to keep Frank from vibrating right out of his arms.

Gerard felt sick. He was grateful Frank had come to him but he wished it hadn’t been necessary. Seeing Frank break down was worse than anything—he didn’t even know. He thought about every bad thing that had ever happened to him and somehow this tore a hole in his gut and scared him like nothing before. He managed to hold back and when his eyes welled up he squeezed Frank harder.

Gradually, Frank’s breathing slowed and his body stilled, the tears tapering into sniffles. Gerard kissed the side of his head and murmured into his ear over and over again that everything would be okay. He didn’t know what exactly had upset Frank but he’d hold him in his arms until the end of time if need be.

Frank started shivering again. He tried to pull away and Gerard tightened his arm around his back. He brushed Frank’s hair from his face to kiss the tear tracks. His eyes were red as he stared at the floor, chewing on his lip ring. When he tucked his hands between his knees, Gerard kissed him once more and suggested he take a shower to warm up.

Frank nodded and Gerard let him slip from his lap as he reached over to turn on the tap. He fussed until the water was warm and wouldn’t leave the bathroom until Frank had started to undress. He pulled the door closed behind him to give Frank some privacy.

Shucking his clothes, he left them in a pile on the floor and got into his pyjamas. It was seven. He’d missed dinner but he wasn’t hungry and didn’t imagine Frank would eat either. He needed a smoke. But he wouldn’t leave Frank alone to go outside, so he paced the room, chewing on his nails instead. Listened intently to Frank showering. When the water shut off, Gerard sat on his bed and waited.

Eventually, the door eased open and Frank came out. When Gerard caught his eye, he blinked and looked at the floor, clenching his jaw. The borrowed clothes were too big and with his glistening wet skin and the stony look on his face he looked like an angry kitten fresh from a bath. Gerard patted the bed and Frank sank to the mattress, his hair dripping all over the place. He didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Frank muttered into his lap.

Gerard touched his back briefly before retrieving a fresh towel from the bathroom. He sat obnoxiously close to Frank and started to dry his hair. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” He rubbed gently, trying to soothe the damp from Frank’s head instead of shocking it out.

Frank mumbled something indecipherable and Gerard moved the towel. “Hmm?”

“You don’t have to baby me.”

“I’m not.” Gerard covered Frank’s head and gave his hair a good shake. He tossed the towel to the floor and proceeded to comb his fingers through Frank’s hair to straighten it out. “You were dripping all over the place. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Well, stop.” Frank dodged Gerard’s hand and gave him a dirty look.

Gerard dropped his arm into his lap and gave Frank a look right back. “If I’m not the one you’re mad at, stop acting like it. I’m trying to help.”

Frank tore his eyes away with a huff. He dropped his head into his arms and quietly said, “I’m sorry.”

Gerard matched his tone and said, “It’s okay.” They sat for a long minute, Gerard’s knee tucked under Frank’s thigh their only point of contact. When Gerard’s fingers got itchy to touch, he said, “Wanna go smoke upstairs on the balcony?”

Frank snorted, a hint of amusement. “Yeah, okay.”

Gerard risked getting snapped at and made Frank drink some water and put on a pair of socks and a sweatshirt before they went outside. When Frank grumbled, Gerard tugged the hood over his damp hair to keep him warm.

It was chilly but the night sky was hazy and serene. Smoking was bliss since he’d tried to quit and failed. Every cigarette was a joy to behold, every hit of nicotine better than the last. He closed his eyes as he inhaled and watched the white stream evaporate into the air. Licking his lips, he tipped the ash into an old can that had been collecting it for years and years. His grandmother had placed it there for him even though she hated that he smoked.

“Do you have to smoke like that?” Frank asked.

“Like what?” Gerard had the cigarette clamped between two fingers. He waved it around as he blew smoke out the side of his mouth so he could keep talking. “I’m fucking smoking.”

“You’re too happy like you’re fucking fellating that thing.”

Gerard snorted. “I’m happy I’m smoking again. Would you rather I fellate something else?” Gerard sucked in his cheeks in an exaggerated puff and blew it back out at Frank with his mouth wide open. He laughed at Frank’s expression and took another drag.

“Yeah, my dick.” Frank’s snarky reply mixed with the baggy hoodie reminded Gerard of one of his students. He chortled out a laugh and wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that so?” Gerard teased. “I can take it.”

A trace of a smile touched Frank’s face as he replied, “My dick’s so big you’ll choke on it.”

“Not the worst way to go.” Gerard stubbed out his butt and recited, “Here lies the body of Gerard Way. Champion cocksucker until he choked on his boyfriend’s massive member.”

“Don’t joke about that shit.” Frank dropped his butt and crowded Gerard against the sliding glass door.

“Boyfriend?”

“You dying, dipshit.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Gerard laced his fingers with Frank’s and squeezed. “Maybe inside. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“C’mon then, _fuckface_.”

“Fuckface?” Gerard said incredulously.

“Fitting, isn’t it?” Frank tugged Gerard’s hand and didn’t let go as they went inside. “Maybe if you stop talking about sucking my dick I’ll let you braid my hair instead.”

“Baby, you say the sweetest things.” Gerard swooned and missed the last step, stumbling into Frank’s back. “Oof. Sorry.” When Frank caught him by the waist and hugged him tightly, Gerard mumbled, “Nice catch.”

“Yeah, you certainly are.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and shoved at Frank to separate them. Suddenly, he felt exhausted and Frank too looked on the verge of keeling over.

“I’m tired,” Gerard tucked Frank’s stray wet strands of hair back under the hood. “You wanna go to bed?” Gerard ushered him in the direction of his room without waiting for an answer. When he made for the bathroom, he said, “I’m sorry—I threw out your toothbrush. But I’ve got eleven more for you to pick from.”

“Eleven? What about Spencer? Didn’t he get a toothbrush?”

“No. I never invited him over.”

“Not ever?”

Gerard shook his head. “Nope. Not even for dinner.”

Frank didn’t say anything else but the corner of his mouth turned up and he looked smug about it. He picked out a red toothbrush and they brushed standing side-by-side at the bathroom sink. Gerard choked back his pills. He drank half a glass of water and handed the remains to Frank. 

Frank accepted the glass and muttered, “Thanks, mom,” and then froze. “Fuck.” He set the water down and scrubbed at his face, cursing again. When Gerard reached out, Frank jerked away and walked out. With a sigh, Gerard went to take a piss and spent an exorbitant amount of time washing his hands afterwards to give Frank a minute to himself.

The lights were out in the bedroom. Frank was under the blankets with the covers up to his ears and his back to Gerard. Gerard’s stomach churned as he got into bed. Frank remained still and silent, his back a hard line of tension warning Gerard to keep away. The space between them felt infinite.

No way could Gerard fall asleep like this. He laid there, biting at his nails and staring at Frank’s back, wondering what he should do. Frank did a terrible job hiding his sniffling and stuttered breaths. To listen and do nothing was painful and Gerard felt helpless. The sniffles subsided and for a long time the room was silent but Gerard knew from Frank’s breathing pattern he hadn’t fallen asleep.

Eventually, Frank took a shaky breath and curled further away from Gerard. “I told her,” Frank whispered into the dark. “I told my mom about us.”

Gerard’s chest clenched and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. It was big but it wasn’t a total surprise. Frank fought with his mom all the time and sure, Frank was learning how to manage his anger but he was also being more honest about it. They had a turbulent relationship and it was inevitable that Frank would outgrow it. That he would realize he was worthy of more and absolutely did not need her approval. But Gerard hadn’t thought it would happen so soon. Frank was still fragile and Gerard fretted over whether it would be too much for him.

With the shock of tears pricking at his eyes, Gerard risked a move and squeezed Frank’s shoulder. “Frank, hey. C’mere,” Gerard pleaded, tugging gently until Frank gave in and slowly rolled over to face him. When Gerard caressed his cheek, Frank grabbed his hand, taking his fingers and squeezing them too tight.

Then he started talking. Gerard could barely make out his features in the dark and perhaps it was easier that way. Tell his secrets to the night.

“One minute we were arguing about my job—she knows what’s best for me and all that garbage—and then I just… I cracked. Not like—I didn’t get mad. Something inside deflated and suddenly, I didn’t care anymore. I mean, I care but I can’t keep fucking doing this with her. I stayed calm and told her she doesn’t know what best. If she did, I wouldn’t have to hide things from her. She was so shocked, she didn’t say a word and I kind of let loose on her. Told her I’m into guys, that I’ve dated guys before and yeah, hey, remember that guy Gerard, the one you called a ‘nice young man’? I’m totally in love with him and he was my boyfriend until I messed it up and the only hell I’m destined for is the one I’ve created for myself. I told her my life is my business and she needs to stay out of it. Once she snapped out of it, she went straight to yelling at me—‘You’re confused. You don’t know what you’re saying’. Then she started crying. Asking God where she went wrong. Said I’m not the son she raised and I’m going to hell. Then she told me to get out of her house, so I did.”

As Frank swiped at his eyes, Gerard realized he had a death grip on Frank’s hand and his cheeks were hot with tears. He loosened his fingers and wiped his face. “I’m sorry, Frank. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Frank said roughly and sniffed. “I’m sick of sneaking around. If she doesn’t like who I am, why should I care? If I can’t be myself with my own mother, what the fuck is the point? I refuse to be like my dad. Fuck, Gerard, after all the shit you’ve been through? You still get up every morning and show the world who you are no matter how many people try to drag you down. I don’t want to be one of the people who drags you down. I love you, Gerard. I love your strength and your passion and I love who you are. If I can’t at least be honest about myself, then I don’t deserve to be with you.”

Gerard kissed Frank, hard. Frank’s hands found Gerard’s face and held on to keep him there. It was wet and snotty and Gerard put every ounce of love he had into it. When they separated, Gerard chuckled wetly and went in for one more salty kiss.

“I love you, too. And Frank, you do deserve it. You deserve everything.”

He grabbed some tissues so they could blow their noses and pat their tears dry. Frank grew clingy. Gerard opened his arms and Frank got as close as possible, tangling their limbs and burrowing into Gerard’s chest. They breathed together. It wasn’t until Frank started snoring that Gerard finally relaxed and drifted off himself.

The next morning, Gerard woke with Frank still in his arms. They had slept like the dead. Frank wheezed in his sleep and Gerard couldn’t bear to wake him. He shifted his hips to move his morning wood away from Frank’s knee and realized Frank was hard too. His dick pressed into Gerard’s thigh in a teasing way and before Gerard could consider his options, Frank began to stir.

“Mmm. Sorry,” Frank croaked. He retracted his hips and tilted his head to press a kiss to Gerard’s chin.

“S’okay.” Gerard returned the gesture, planting his lips on Frank’s forehead. They breathed one another’s air for a few minutes until their mouths were magnetically drawn together. The kisses started sweet and soft, slowly shifting into something more. Gerard murmured, “You want?” and demonstrated by pressing his thigh against Frank’s stiff groin.

“Mmm-hmm.” Frank lifted his knee, gently pushing into Gerard’s groin. He hissed as sparks shot up his spine and his dick twitched with excitement.

With a wicked smile, Frank’s eyes fluttered open and he drew Gerard in for a proper kiss. Things grew heated in an instant. They rutted against each other using whatever body part was closest. Frank’s tongue was heavy and warm in Gerard’s mouth. It was the most secure thing he’d felt since the last time they’d fucked in that bed. 

When it wasn’t enough, Gerard’s hand found its way down the front of Frank’s bottoms and squeezed Frank’s dick. It felt strange and backwards using his left hand but he did his best. Not like Frank had any complaints. He gasped into it and returned the gesture. Gerard shut his eyes and rode it out. They jacked each other to completion in record time, moaning and panting like they’d forgotten what it felt like. 

Gerard hadn’t forgotten so much as desperately missed it. There were many paths to easy orgasms but only Frank could bring him to the next level. Entwine their hearts and all that other soulmate gobbledygook. Well, he used to think it was gobbledygook but Frank had made a believer out of him.

After he came, Gerard lay there, holding onto Frank because he didn’t want to let him go. Frank licked his fingers and then gave Gerard a languid, sticky kiss. It was fucking hot. But the spunk sticking to his stomach had grown cold and gross. Instead of complaining, he coerced Frank into getting up with the promise of pancakes.

They went into the bathroom to clean up first. Gerard sopped up a washcloth as Frank peeled off his t-shirt. When Gerard tugged at the waistband of Frank’s borrowed boxers,  Frank nearly slapped his hand away. 

Gerard’s eyes got big over the shock of it. “What? You shy all of a sudden?” Frank’s expression had grown serious. “Frank?”

“I have to tell you something.” Frank looked at the sink instead of Gerard.

“What is it?” Gerard retracted his hand away slowly as his heart began to race. “Just tell me.”

“No, it’s nothing bad, I… I should have said something sooner. I didn’t mean to keep it from you for so long.” Their bodies were close but Frank wouldn’t meet Gerard’s eyes and it made his stomach heavy. “It’s stupid, really. I just didn’t know how you’d react.”

“Frank. You’re freaking me out.” Gerard tossed the cloth in the sink and clasped Frank’s hand. “Whatever it is it can’t be worse than the shit going through my head right now.”

Frank flicked his eyes up. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I … uh,” Frank stammered and quickly pushed the boxers down to pool at his feet. With a pained look on his face, he slapped a hand to his head like he was getting a migraine.

“Frank?” Gerard touched his hair and then his hand, stroking his fingers to get him to relax.

“Uh, I got a new tattoo.”

“Oh. Okay.” Gerard’s terror swiftly vanished and in came confusion and curiosity. Frank spun around, giving Gerard a nice view of his back. He had a bunch of tattoos on either side of his spine, most of which Gerard had studied intensely. Gerard trailed his fingers along Frank’s backbone.

“I’ve seen all these. I don’t know which one you’re talking about.”

“Go lower.”

“How low?” His fingers trailed down to Frank’s waist and then he spotted it. “Oh my God, you tattooed your ass!” Gerard tried to contain his laughter but he couldn’t. It came out like a snort and escalated from there. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said when Frank turned to give him a dirty look. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. It must have hurt?”

“Yes, it frickin’ hurt.” Frank pressed his forehead to the wall in light of Gerard’s amusement. “Turns out, having a tight ass equals transcendental pain when it comes to tattoos, just so you know.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Lemme see…” Frank had a great ass—Gerard had no qualms crouching down for a closer look. “What was so important that you had to go get it”—Gerard froze—“Frank, what the hell?” Gerard shuddered through an assortment of emotions but none stuck. “When did you get that?”

Frank laughed awkwardly at the wall. “A while ago.”

Frank was an idiot. Not only had he gone and had Gerard’s name tattooed on his ass—on his frigging ass!—it was outlined by a heart with an arrow stuck through it. For a moment, Gerard stared at it. It couldn’t be real. He reached out and yeah, it was real. He traced the heart with his thumb and raised an eyebrow. “Frank?” He pinched Frank’s buttcheek and watched it turn red underneath the heart.

“Ow—fuck.” Frank flinched. “I got it in Baltimore, like the day after we had that big fight. I thought it was a good idea at the time.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. You own my ass, I guess? Even when you hated me.”

“I never hated you.” Gerard rubbed at the letters like he’d be able to wipe them off and Frank kept talking. “Were you drunk?”

“No. The guy at the shop made sure of that. He asked me like ten times if I was sure so clearly, he thought it was a stupid idea too.” Frank sighed at the wall. “Told you I was all fucked up. I was being stupid. As misguided as it was, I wanted to show you how I felt.”

Gerard snorted and then stood, turning Frank around to face him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you’d be pissed. Think I was trying to manipulate you or something. Or you’d laugh at me. That would’ve been worse.”

“ _Were_ you trying to manipulate me?”

“No. I loved you then and I love you now. That’s never changed.” 

“Okay.” Gerard smiled.

“Okay? You’re not mad or anything?”

Gerard shook his head. “You know that’s permanent, right? It’s like, never gonna come off.”

“Yep,” Frank said cheerily.

“You got my name tattooed on your ass.”

“Yep. I’m all yours now.”

“What if we break up and you find someone else?”

Frank rolled his eyes and took Gerard’s face in his hands. “Then I guess I’ll have to find another dude named Gerard to go out with.” Then he kissed him like he’d never dream of it.

*

In the kitchen, Gerard whipped up the pancake batter and let Frank pour it on the griddle. Frank’s pancakes were always perfect circles cooked to a nice golden brown whereas Gerard’s were usually misshaped and occasionally burnt around the edges. Plus, Frank got a kick out of flipping them in the air. Most of them landed in the griddle and the ones that didn’t were quickly dragged away by one of the cats.

They giggled through breakfast, giddy from maple syrup and Gerard’s bad puns. Mikey came in briefly for coffee and to steal a couple of pancakes but refused to join them at the table. He rolled his eyes at their antics but left with a satisfied grin on his face. When Gerard noticed the time, he offered Frank the last pancake and started to clear the table.

“Are you trying to _butter_ me up?” Frank said with cheek.

“You’d _batter_ believe it, _shortstack_.” Gerard kissed the top of Frank’s head before taking his plate to the dishwasher.

“That’s it.” Frank motion with his fork. “I’m getting you a waffle iron.”

With a huge grin, Gerard returned to pinch Frank’s face. “Aww, you’re _waffley_ cute when you’re cranky!” 

He finished cleaning up and Frank crowded him against the counter and said, “I’m waffley horny from watching you lick syrup off your fingers.” Gerard snorted and pressed their foreheads together. Frank grinned. “I bet you still taste like maple syrup.”

Frank was inches away from testing his theory when the doorbell rang. Gerard lifted his head and cursed. Frank’s eyebrows creased together but before he could ask, Mikey called out, “Gerard, your fan club’s here!” from the other room.

“Fan club?”

“Ugh.” Gerard slapped a hand over his face. “Students. From the GSA. The school changed some rules about prom—no same-sex couples. Total fucking bullshit. I promised to meet with them today.”

Several youthful voices bled through the kitchen door. “Ah, fuck,” Gerard muttered.

Frank held him at arm’s length and curled his lip. “You need clothes that don’t have little Christmas trees or come stains on them.”

Gerard looked down at his pyjamas and frowned. “Shitballs. Should we make a run for it?”

Frank nodded once and they bolted out the kitchen door and bounded up the stairs before anyone could catch them sneaking off. Gerard slammed his bedroom door behind him, panting to catch his breath. Wild-eyed, he stripped, shucked on a pair of jeans and picked a random t-shirt from his closet. 

Frank lounged on the bed and started cackling when Gerard put his shirt on backwards. Gerard twisted around a few times, getting his cast caught in an armhole as he tried to fix it. Then he sighed in defeat and gave Frank a desperate look.

“C’mere.” Frank beckoned him over. He crawled up to kneel on the bed, tugging Gerard’s t-shirt off and fitting it back over his head in the proper direction. He ruffled Gerard’s hair, raking his fingers through it a few times. “There. You’re gorgeous.” He kissed Gerard’s lips until he stopped pouting. Frank rubbed Gerard’s cheek and made a face. “I guess you don’t have time to shave.”

“No.” Gerard ran a hand over his face. “Fuck. It’s bad, right?”

Frank shook his head. “Nah. Just tell the kids you’re _Weekend_ -Gerard.”

“Who’s Weekend-Gerard?”

“It’s Saturday. Tell them they’re getting a rare glimpse of what their favourite teacher gets up to on the weekend, all casual and in his natural habitat.”

“I can’t look like I just rolled out of bed.” Gerard dug through his closet until he found a cardigan. It was thin and grey and definitely gave off teacher vibes. He slid it on, wrinkling his nose as he inspected his reflection in the mirror. He shoved the sleeves up to his elbows, out of the way of his cast and then fumbled to do up the buttons. Turning his palms up in question, he said, “This good?”

“Adorable. I’d let you near children.”

“Teenagers. And two parents.” He looked down, tugging the cardigan over his belly.

“I can hide out in here, out of your way. Unless you want me to leave?” Frank collapsed to the bed and fiddles with his lip ring.

“What?” Gerard jerked his head up. “No, you’re not going anywhere. You can join us if you want. You don’t have to talk or anything. But if you’re uncomfortable with the kids, you can hang out up here or in the kitchen.”

“It’s ten am. They’ll know I slept over.”

“Hey.” Gerard kneeled on the bed, pulled Frank closer with a hand on the back of his neck. “I don’t care what they think. I do run the GSA and my students all know I’m gay. And I’m an adult. I’m allowed to have sleepovers if I want to.” He punctuated his statement with a kiss. Then his tongue got away from him and he shoved Frank onto his back. Frank broke the kiss with a laugh.

“Go on. Your students are waiting. I have to call my dad, anyway. I might come down later.”

“Okay.” Gerard wrestled with his back, where his sweater had rucked up his t-shirt. Or had that been Frank? “Please come down if you want to. Don’t feel like you have to hide up here.”

Gerard made his way downstairs and started blabbing right away, hoping to head them off. “Oh, you’re all here. Great! Let’s get started!” The room responded with snickering and questions he chose to ignore—“Were those Christmas pyjamas?”—“Was that your boyfriend?”—“Are there snacks?” 

Gerard fussed with his hair to hide his flushed cheeks. He said ‘hi’ to Cody’s father and Tabby’s mom who were both seated on the sofa and there to supervise. Of the group, sixteen kids had received permission to attend the meeting and they were all squished together on the floor. The cats had found them and were getting passed back and forth between the kids as they smothered them with kisses and cuddles.

A cacophony of voices started up, all talking at once until Gerard waved his hands to silence them. They were upset—he understood that—but they’d get nowhere without order. He appointed someone to take notes while they talked it over. Even the parents got involved. Tabby’s mom knew a human rights lawyer who was willing to help them out. After an hour, they had a list of things they had to do and Gerard had a pounding headache.

He declared it break time and on his way into the kitchen for aspirin, caught Frank eavesdropping from the stairs. He had changed into his jeans and Gerard’s hoody. Frank slowly descended the stairs. “You had their attention so I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Now’s a good time.” Gerard rubbed his temples and motioned towards the kitchen. “I needed a break.”

Gerard paused to prop the door open for Frank and found the cats chasing after them. Guess even they needed a break from his students after an hour of constant stimulation.

Frank helped him scavenge for snacks in the cupboards. Good thing he’d shopped yesterday with a teenage invasion in mind. Chips, soda (not diet) and Red Vines. Gerard opened a bag of plain chips and upended them over a bowl, losing some to the countertop. He picked the strays off the counter and ate them one by one, carefully watching Frank. Then he licked his fingers and wiped the remaining grease onto his jeans. 

When Frank didn’t bat an eye, Gerard said, “Did you talk to your dad?” Frank nodded as he struggled with the wrapping on the Red Vines. “What did he say?”

Frank snorted. “ _I told you so_.”

Gerard turned abruptly to face Frank, leaning his hip against the counter. “He didn’t?”

“Kind of.” Frank huffed. “His exact words were, ‘I’m not going to say I told you so,’ so… point for dad. He was right. He thinks I fucked up again.” Frank made a sour face and tore the corner of the bag with his teeth.

“You didn’t fuck up—your mom did.” Frank flashed him a look. “She did. You were being honest with her. What you did was brave.”

Frank sighed and dropped the package of licorice on the counter with a _thwack_. “Great. Tell her that. I called her, too, but she hung up on me. She’s gotta at least let me get my stuff from the house.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“My dad said he’d talk to her. He’s gonna pick me up in the morning and go home with me. Help me pack up all my shit if we can get in the house. I don’t even have my keys. I’ll have to call in sick to work tomorrow. That’s… if you don’t mind me staying another night?”

“You can stay as long as you like. What about after?”

Frank shrugged and gave Gerard a limp smile. “I can stay with my dad and his girlfriend until I figure out what to do. I’ve been thinking about it anyway, so it’s not totally crazy. It could be worse, I guess.”

“What’s his girlfriend like? Do you get along?”

“Cathy? She’s okay. I don’t know her that well. She’s been nice every time I’ve met her. She’s not religious or anything and I’m sure my dad would tell me if he thought she would have a problem with me, y’know.” Frank stuck his hands in the hoody pocket and stared at the floor, chewing on his lip ring. “I just… I hope this doesn’t mess things up for us.”

Gerard moved in closer, gently squeezing Frank’s arms. “What do you mean?”

“Like, things are even more fucked up than before. I’m gonna be living in Trenton. I’ll have to commute and fuck—I’m gonna have to get a car. It’s far and I have to work all the time and I dunno, I have to figure my shit out.”

Gerard scoffed and tugged on the hoody to get Frank’s attention. “Don’t be silly—you’ll be an hour away. That’s nothing. Weekends, weeknights—whatever. We’ll make it work if you still want to.” He worked his hand into the pocket to intertwine his hand with Frank’s.

“Yeah?” Frank looked up and Gerard nodded, faces mere inches apart. “You know I want to—of course, I do. It’s pretty much the only thing I’m sure of right now.” 

Gerard leaned into Frank and kissed him softly. Frank sighed into his mouth and then dropped his head to Gerard’s chest. Gerard untangled their fingers so he could wrap Frank up. He whispered, “I love you. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” into Frank’s hair. 

Frank sighed into Gerard’s shoulder and looked up to catch his eye. “Thanks.”

“Now,” Gerard said. “You wanna come meet my teenaged stalkers?”

Frank snorted and nudged Gerard’s chest with his face before pulling away entirely. Gerard kissed him once more before they rounded up the bowls and carried them into the living room. Nonchalantly, he said, “Hey, guys, this is my boyfriend, Frank. If you’re nice to him, he might share the snacks with you.”

The kids went easy on Frank. Cody’s dad was kind of a hard-ass. He kept their comments in line with his bulging muscles and stern eyebrows. Gerard had met him before. He wasn’t a cop but he had something to do with security or law enforcement and Gerard knew he was an out and proud gay man. Before Frank, Gerard had entertained the idea but now he couldn’t fathom wanting anyone else. He was thoroughly enamoured with Frank and so proud of his courage. Besides, he could never imagine himself dating someone with a moustache.

Frank was good with the kids, letting them poke at his tattoos and amusing them with some borderline dirty jokes. When their questions got personal he simply told them to not take shit from anyone, including their family. That whoever they were, they were special and anyone who didn’t get that could fuck right off. It meant a lot to the kids, hearing an adult talk about struggling with issues similar to theirs.

After the meeting, when they were finally alone again, Gerard hugged Frank. He’d been itching to do it after Frank’s little speech but held it in until the kids had all left. He told Frank how proud he was and Frank brushed him off, blushing and mumbling that he needed a smoke.

Upstairs in his bedroom, Gerard discovered that Frank had made his bed and picked all his dirty clothes up off the floor while he was in his meeting.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Frank shrugged and shot him a sly smile. “You’re kind of a slob.”

“Not all the time,” Gerard said defensively. “I’ve been busy and I’ve got a broken arm.” He motioned with his cast. “I’ll have more time now that the art show’s over.”

“And you’ll have loads of time without me around to bug you,” Frank said bitterly. “I’ll be stuck in another frickin’ city.”

“I like having you around.” Gerard fiddled with his sweater sleeve, hesitating before he said, “You could move in here. Save yourself buying a car and all that commuting. It wouldn’t have to be permanent… or it could be.”

“You just want a housekeeper. Someone to pick up after you and do your laundry.” 

Frank lightly slapped Gerard’s ass to get a laugh out of him. Gerard kissed Frank’s ear and said, “I’m serious.”

“No way. No offences but it’s a terrible idea.” Frank pulled him back to meet his eyes. “I don’t wanna fuck this up before it even gets going again.”

“I understand.” Gerard sighed all dramatically. “I see how it is—I missed you and now I’m all clingy and needy.”

“I like you all clingy and needy.” Frank pushed Gerard onto the bed and Gerard yelped in surprise. “I like you naked, too.”

Gerard wriggled backwards, stretching his arms out as Frank crawled up his body. “What about that cigarette you wanted?” 

Frank stripped his t-shirt and hoody off in one motion. “It can wait. Sex first. Smoke later.” He leaned in close, his hair hanging over his face and the tips tickling his smile. “Unless you had other plans?” 

“Only with you.”

“I guess I ruined date night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Gerard brushed Frank’s hair back so he could see his face. “We can still go out and do something later if you want to. Or we can stay here and flake out. It’s up to you—whatever you want.”

Frank chewed his lip ring into his mouth and looked around the room like it held the answer. With Frank still in his lap, Gerard sat up and put his arms around his naked torso, hands finding smooth, warm skin. With a soft sigh, he dug his chin into Frank’s shoulder and let his fingers wander.

Frank turned to kiss his neck a few times before sneakily sliding Gerard’s t-shirt up and over his head. Then they were kissing for real, Gerard’s question lost to the moment. He didn’t let it go, however. When they were finished, lying sweaty and sated in each other’s arms, Gerard brought it up again.

“I got what I wanted,” Frank said lazily in reply. He bit at Gerard’s chin to make his point.

Gerard smoothed a hand down Frank’s back. “You wanna lie here all night? I won’t complain.” In a timely fashion, Frank’s stomach gurgled and Gerard laughed. “I can make you dinner. Or we could go out. There’s a bunch of Frank-friendly restaurants I want to take you to. I found a place that makes the best mock-chicken and waffles.”

“Sounds amazing,” Frank murmured. “We could do take-out and get a movie?”

“We could go to the movies. There’s this old drive-in out in Warwick that’s still open. We used to go there a lot when I was growing up.”

“A drive-in? Seriously?” Frank pulled back, eyes lit up with glee. “I wanna go to the drive-in,” Frank said excitedly.

Gerard laughed. “We don’t even know what’s playing yet.” 

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve never been to the drive-in before. Neither of my parents would let me stay out that late when I was a kid. You sure it won’t be too late for you? I’m gonna bail on the office tomorrow—call in sick—but you have school.”

“I don’t, actually. That’s what gave me the idea. We have a PD day tomorrow and I don’t have to go in until the afternoon. Plus, we did sleep for like twelve hours last night. It sounds like you wanna go?”

“Yes, please! You’re the best!” Frank kissed Gerard hard on the mouth a dizzying number of times and then shocked Gerard when he leapt out of bed. 

Gerard groaned and pulled the duvet up to cover himself. In Frank’s haste, he’d yanked most of the blankets off Gerard leaving him naked and cold. “Oh my God, get back into bed.”

“We should get ready. Stock up the car? Get take-out for dinner. And coffee for you since we’ll be out late?”

“There’s plenty of time. It doesn’t start until dark.” Gerard glanced at the clock and then took in Frank’s manic expression. “Okay. Get back here and gimme twenty minutes. If you want, we can skip dinner and get food at the drive-in. Kind of goes with the experience, if you ask me.”

“Deal!” Frank dove back into bed as abruptly as he’d tumbled out of it.

*

It wasn’t until Gerard was trying to stuff an armful of pillows and blankets into the backseat of his car that he remembered the other painting. He lugged it inside and set it down in the kitchen where Frank was packing up snacks to take to the movies. Frank stopped to watch as Gerard carefully slide it in between a bookcase and the wall to keep it out of harm’s way. He could already envision the kittens taking their claws to the fragile paper or someone knocking it flat on the floor.

“What’s that?”

“One of my paintings from last night. I saved it for you.”

“For me? Really?” Frank bit his lip, holding back a smile.

“Yeah, of course. It’s the one of you that you liked—on the cross?”

“Seriously?” Frank’s face split into a grin. “I thought you sold it?”

“Nah, it was never for sale.” Gerard flapped a hand at him. “I was never going to let it go home with a stranger.”

Frank hopped around the kitchen island and grabbed Gerard’s hand. He kissed him a bunch of times while laughing. “That’s so awesome—thank you, thank you!” Gerard accepted the kisses and tried not to blush.

*

The drive-in was just beyond the border into New York State in the outskirts of Warwick, about an hour drive away. They left with ample time to stop at Starbucks. Frank was insistent they get in early to pick the best spot. He was bouncing in his seat when they arrived because they were the second car in line.

At the entrance stood the same old red and black marquee that had been there forever, with its battered letters and the lightbox yellowed from age. Gerard waved at it and said, “They have three different screens so we can pick”—

“They have three screens?” Frank was so damn excited, Gerard couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

“Yeah.” Gerard chuckled. “They play the movies in pairs. What d’you wanna watch?” The selection was for shit—they never screened indie movies, only the biggest of blockbusters—but Gerard kept that to himself. Besides, that night’s offerings weren’t too bad.

“As if you have to ask,” Frank scoffed.

“Um, is it the first two or the last two?”

“ _Don’t front_ —I know you’d happily watch ‘Miss Congeniality 2’.”

“Yeah, fine, I would,” Gerard admitted. “But this is all you, baby—what are you in the mood for? Action, comedy, horror?”

“Well, you’re right about the second one—I don’t know what ‘Monster-in-Law’ is but from the title alone it’s a hard no. And I know you’ve probably seen ‘Sin City’ at least three times already.”

“Four times. But you haven’t! And you know I’ll watch it again. The other one could be fun and action-y.”

“‘State of the Union?’” Frank shook his head. “ _Too_ action-y. And explod-y. Have you seen the horror movies yet?” Gerard made a neutral face and shrugged. “C’mon, don’t make this hard—tell me. Yes or no?”

“No, but”—

“Done! Settled. That’s what I wanna watch,” Frank said with a nod. When Gerard pursed his lips to complain, Frank touched his jaw and rubbed a thumb across his cheek. “Don’t pout. You know I love scary movies as much as you do.”

“Amityville’s kind of ghosty,” Gerard warned.

“Don’t tell me your car is haunted, too.”

Gerard snorted. “My car is _not_ haunted. Neither is my house.”

“Good to know. ‘Amityville Horror’ and ‘House of Wax’ it is! And if either of them gets too scary we can always make out. That’s what you do at the drive-in, right? Isn’t that half the point?”

Gerard just laughed and took Frank’s hand in reply.

Frank calmed down until the place opened. It was hard to keep an eye on the bumpy dirt road with Frank waving his arms around and pointing at all their options for parking. He had Gerard pull into three different spots until he was satisfied with the view. Gerard breathed out a sigh of relief as he killed the ignition.

He hadn’t been there in years—since high school, probably—and seeing the rows of grassy hills and the white screen with its weathered and worn paint job brought back a lot of memories. Hot summer nights and watching the sunset from the backseat of the car. When they were really little, he and Mikey used to fall asleep during the movie, buried in blankets with a bucket of popcorn between them. He supposed it was the only way his parents got a date night and they got to watch all the Star Wars and Muppet movies over and over again.

Frank hopped out and stretched while Gerard took his time, fussing with his hair in the rearview mirror and double-checking his jacket pockets for his smokes and wallet before he got out. Frank was sitting on the hood of the car, watching all the cars stream in and fill up all the centre spots.

“You wanna go play on the slide or smoke?” Gerard asked when he caught Frank watching some kids. They were screeching and running for the playground equipment that sat on the grass near the bottom of the screen.

“You got smokes?” When Gerard nodded, Frank kicked out to hook his ankle behind Gerard’s leg and clumsily tug Gerard towards him. Gerard stumbled and pitched forward. He had to grab Frank by the shoulders and stopped short of falling into him. He laughed, heart-pounding as he yanked Frank’s hood over his head. Then he jumped out of Frank’s reach and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket. With an evil grin on his face, he started walking backwards and wiggling the pack in the air to taunt him.

“Come back here with those, you tease!” Frank threw his head back to shake off the hood and hopped to the ground. One second, he was laughing and chasing after Gerard, and the next, running and shouting, “Whoah, Gerard! Watch out!” 

Frank practically landed on him and had him by the lapels of his jacket before Gerard could even react. Together they went tumbling into the grass as a car skidded past, tires spitting up dirt and gravel.

“What an idiot,” Frank said, directing his sneer at the car. He pulled Gerard to sitting and frowned as he looked him over. He inspected Gerard’s cast and then put a hand on his face. “You okay?” Gerard was a bit shell-shocked but nothing hurt.

Gerard nodded, trying to wipe the worry from Frank’s face. “I’m okay. I should watch where I’m going.”

“Babe, no.” Frank took Gerard by the hand and helped him to his feet. “There are little kids around here. That asshole shouldn’t have been driving like that. See”—Frank nodded across the lot to where someone was yelling at the driver—“I think they’re kicking them out.” Sure enough, the same car tore off the lot and left a man shouting out obscenities behind him.

“Who takes their kids to see scary movies?” Gerard said.

“Twelve, thirteen, whatever—they look like little kids to me. Better than dragging them to ’Miss Congeniality 2’. And you’re missing the point: you almost got hit by a frigging car! At the frigging drive-in!”

“It wasn’t going _that_ fast.”

“Fast enough to knock you over and leave you with some bumps and bruises. Seriously, Gerard, I’m gonna make you wear a helmet when we go out. Or one of those suits that crazy Canadian dude built to fight with bears in. Actually, it was pretty cool. He looked like a transformer. Or RoboCop. Don’t you wanna be like RoboCop? He’s totally badass. Not even a car would mess with him.” 

Gerard started laughing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Grizzly Man?” Frank’s face got all pinched like memory recall was giving him constipation or something and Gerard couldn’t stop giggling.

“No, Frank. That was the one where the guy and his girlfriend got eaten by a bear.” He pawed at Frank’s face, trying to wipe his expression away. “It was really sad… but I can’t stop laughing, you jerk.”

Frank snapped his fingers and pointed at Gerard triumphantly. “Project Grizzly.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pulled Frank into a hug and then kissed his face over and over until he stopped yapping about spacesuits and bear attacks. “Thanks for saving me.”

The sun was going down, causing a chill in the air. Gerard led Frank way out back behind the concession stand to have a hurried smoke and then inside for some hot food. Skipping dinner meant they could stuff their faces with greasy French fries and big fat pretzels along with the snacks they’d brought. The scent of the deep-fryer mixed with popcorn and the great outdoors stopped Gerard in his tracks. It smelled so familiar, jerking him back in time. He thought of Mikey and got a rush of excitement thinking about bringing his niece or nephew there someday.

They went back to the car and got settled in. The bench seat made it easy for Gerard to snuggle up beside Frank, the pair of them cozy under blankets with everything at an arm’s reach. Gerard tuned the radio station to the drive-in channel just in time. A bright projection flickered to life on the big screen and in his excitement, Frank nearly dumped the fries in his lap, ketchup and all. Gerard quickly swapped the pretzel he was holding for the fries, lest he be scrubbing condiments out of the car upholstery for the next month.

They traded back and forth, Gerard carefully feeding Frank French fries and Frank offering bites of the pretzel. Frank still managed to talk through the trailers and a mouth full of food, even if Gerard could only understand half of his comments. That was the beauty of the drive-in, Gerard supposed. Frank could talk all he wanted without disturbing anyone else. Gerard loved it—Frank was totally entertaining and his commentary was better than the movie.

‘The Amityville Horror’ had its tense moments. They didn’t make out, but Frank did chomp through a gross amount of licorice whenever he got freaked out. Gerard just held his hand under the blankets and tried not to laugh.

By the intermission, Gerard had finished his coffee and licked his fingers clean of salt and Frank was getting antsy, probably from all the sugar. They got out of the car to stretch, collect the garbage they’d accumulated and visit the concession stand. The entrance to the bathrooms was located at the rear of the building so they ducked out back for another smoke. Frank had grown quiet but seemed contemplative rather than morose so Gerard let it be. They stood there in the moonlight, shoulder-to-shoulder and staring up at the night sky.

“Honestly,” Frank said. “The priest in that movie scared me more than anything. It’s ridiculous that the church believes in demons and spirits but not homosexuality. Like two guys boning is somehow scarier than a legit haunted house that will either kill you or make you crazy.”

Gerard shook his head. “I don’t get it either.” He inhaled and blew out a puff of smoke, making the stars look all hazy. “Or why fear breeds hatred instead of understanding.”

“Do you think my mom’s just scared?”

“Frank, she doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t understand.”

“I don’t know if she ever will.” Frank sighed out a long breath of smoke and kicked at the grass. “I’m still glad I told her. Carrying that around, worrying about what would happen if she found out—that was worse than telling her. Worse than her screaming at me and acting like I’ve done something wrong. Like I’m wrong.”

“I’m glad you don’t regret it.”

“I don’t at all. Y’know, none of that ever mattered to me before. I like guys, sure, but I figured if I ever wanted to get serious I could find a girl—no big deal. I never put much thought into it. I had the band and that’s what was important to me. The only thing I cared about.” Frank glanced around and lowered his voice. “Then I met you and everything changed. You’re more important to me than anything. More than the band or my mom or whatever stupid job I’ve gotta do to get by. More than all of that.”

Frank was staring at the ground, so Gerard reached out and took his hand. When he squeezed, Frank looked up and gave him a soft smile.

The peace was broken by some noisy youths going into the bathroom around the corner. They stubbed out their butts in unison. Frank chuckled and when their eyes locked they were both smiling. A glance around showed no one in sight, so Gerard gave Frank a quick kiss and then they headed back to the car. Frank ducked into the concession for a soda while Gerard went back to the car to run the engine for a bit so the battery wouldn’t die on them.

They made it about half an hour into the movie before it became a chore to watch. Even Frank had run out of smart remarks. To wipe the sour look from his face, Gerard whispered, “Hey, Frank,” and when Frank turned, Gerard was close enough to lure his lips into a kiss. Frank got his wish and they spent the rest of the movie kissing, the on-screen screams and eerie music a soundtrack to their make-out session. They took a brief break to watch Paris Hilton take a pole through the head and then fell back into it. It didn’t go any further than tangled tongues and some exploratory touches; they were in view of anyone who might be looking and Gerard wasn’t about to take the chance that someone might.

The end credits ran, car engines began revving around them and they reluctantly separated. Gerard’s wiped the stray saliva from around his mouth and bit down on his lips, testing out the sensation.

“My lips are numb,” he complained. He was also flushed and working hard to ignore his dick where it strained against his jeans.

“My ass is numb!” Frank wiggled around and made a face showing his displeasure.

They decided to risk getting into trouble and got out to smoke while they waited for the lot to clear out. The chill in the air zapped all of Gerard’s lingering arousal. He rubbed his hands together as Frank bounced up and down to keep warm.

It was close to one in the morning when they got home. Gerard was tired but still a bit worked up from doing nothing but kissing Frank for an hour at the drive-in. Frank was too. They fucked lazily and fell asleep quickly afterwards.

In the morning, Gerard went straight for the shower because Frank’s dad was coming to pick him up and no way would he meet Frank’s frigging dad smelling like sex. The biggest dilemma was what to wear. He rummaged through his closet in his underwear, dissatisfied with his entire wardrobe.

“Gee, calm down. He knows how I dress and he’s certainly not going to care what you’re wearing.” Frank had changed back into the same clothes, even Gerard’s hoody. By now it smelled like sweat and stale smoke but Frank refused to let it go.

“What bands does he like?” Gerard held up an Iron Maiden tee and one from a Van Halen concert. “All my boring shirts have paint stains on them. I don’t want to look like a slob.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a slob.” Frank stopped Gerard from buttoning up a crisp, navy blue button-up. “Gee—no.” He slipped back over his head and hung it back in the closet. “Just no. That’s not you.”

“It’s not me but at least it’s respectable,” Gerard complained. He sniffed his jeans and shimmied into them while Frank scoured through his wardrobe. He handed Gerard a grey t-shirt and the cardigan he’d worn earlier. When Gerard put them on, he found the sweater covered up any sign of paint. “You sure it’s not too tight?” He tugged at the hem and made a face.

“The only person interested in your body is me, baby. And I like what I see.” He proceeded to kiss Gerard until he stopped fussing with his clothes and put his arms around Frank instead.

When Frank’s dad was due to arrive, they stood at the side of the house and smoked while they waited. Frank puffed aggressively, lost in thought. Gerard tried to distract him by talking about some horror movie he’d watched during his all-nighter before surgery.

“I think Mikey bought it to watch while stoned but it’s trippy enough sober.” He waved his cigarette in Frank’s direction. “We should watch it sometime.”

“Sorry.” Frank shook his head and stubbed his butt out, dropping it into a soda can. “I totally spaced out.”

Gerard finished his smoke and put his arms around Frank, dropping his forehead to his shoulder. He breathed in the stale, smoky scent and clutched his hands to Frank’s back. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Hoping my mom’s not home.” Frank rubbed his hands up and down Gerard’s back. “I don’t want to deal with her if she’ll even talk to me.”

“Let your dad deal with her. He will, won’t he?”

“Yeah. Although they more or less just shout at each other.” Frank squeezed Gerard at the rumble of an engine. “Hey, he’s here.”

They separated and Gerard sighed at the loss of warmth. A white pick-up truck pulled into the driveway. It sputtered to a stop and Gerard wiped his hands on his jeans. There was a chill in the air and yet he still had sweaty palms. He took a few purposeful, slow breaths. 

Frank waved as his dad hopped out of the cab. He approached them with an easy smile on his face. Father and son, for sure. Same eyes, same smile. Gerard felt like a giant standing taller than both of them so he slouched to compensate. 

“C’mere, kid.” Frank’s dad clamped a hand on the back of Frank’s neck and yanked him in for a hug. Frank rolled his eyes and fell into his arms. After a thorough hugging, Frank let go and latched onto Gerard’s arm. Gerard held his breath.

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Gerard.”

When Frank’s dad smiled and reached out to shake his hand, Gerard felt his lungs inflate with relief. Without thinking, Gerard stuck out his left hand as well and stammered out, “Um, sorry.” He switched it for his right arm—the one with the cast in the blinding shade of pink that matched his cheeks. They shook hands briefly—or rather, Frank’s dad took a loose hold of Gerard’s fingers—and Gerard pulled his hand away, laughing awkwardly.

“I heard you’re a painter—that’s gotta be a pain,” Frank’s dad said right away, nodding at the cast on his arm.

“Oh, yeah. I had to have surgery a few weeks ago but it’s getting better.”

“Gerard had a huge art show last night.” Frank was bouncing on his toes. “At a fancy gallery in the city.”

“Congratulations.”

“It was for my grandmother, actually. She was an artist and she passed away last year so it was kind of a grand farewell. I worked on some of her stuff, too.”

“And your own. That you _sold_.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s still a little unbelievable, I guess.” Gerard nudged Frank. “Your painting is still in the kitchen if you want to take it now.”

“Oh, yes! Yes, please. I’ll be right back.”

Frank ducked into the kitchen through the side door and Gerard smiled at Frank’s dad for lack of interesting things to say. Frank’s dad nodded in the direction of the door and said, “Make sure Frank invites you over for dinner once he’d settled in.”

“Oh, thanks. I will.”

Frank came back out with the wrapped painting and after he’d found space for it in the cab of the truck, it was time for him to go. Before they left, Frank gave Gerard a quick, shameless good-bye kiss. Not good-bye, though. More like an, ‘I’ll see you later’ and ‘I love you,’ although Gerard also said the words, just to be clear.

When they drove away, Gerard was left standing in his driveway with a stupid grin on his face. He was tired but he was happy. Really happy. Things weren’t perfect, but he felt a sense of calm. Like whatever the universe threw at him next—he could take. He wasn’t alone and this time he was gonna hold on to his happiness and never let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. The end-ish. The epilogue will be long too. It's set not too far into the future and addresses some things left in question. Having said that, if you have any questions or just things you want to see in the epilogue—let me know! I can't guarantee I'll address everything but your burning desires are important to me! xx


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